


Mᴏᴛᴏʀʀᴀᴅ -Möʀᴅᴇʀ

by HijackTheJackal



Series: Tʜᴇ Mᴏᴛᴏʀʀᴀᴅ Sᴇʀɪᴇs [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A story about literal motorcycle gangs, Bedelia is a bitch, Bottom Will, Hannibal is a Murder Father, Hannibal is a murderer, Hannibal isn't a cannibal, In Character, M/M, Motorcycle Gang AU, Possessive Hannibal, Romantic Hannibal, Sentimental Hannibal, Sexy leather anyone?, Slow Build, Slow Burn, TW : LIGHT DRUNK DRIVING, Tags will change as the story progresses, Top Hannibal, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HijackTheJackal/pseuds/HijackTheJackal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is a Lone Wolf biker, often traveling around the small states of the Northeast for fishing. Things start to change when he meets a fellow biker, Jack Crawford, at a bar, and learns of his large and professional Biker Gang. Things start to take a turn, however, when one of Jack's riders winds up dead on their own turf. Will Graham is sent, as a friend, to inspect the fellow Motorcycle gangs in the area, but his life turns complicated when he meets Hannibal Lecter, the owner of the notorious, dangerous, and incredibly large gang named, "The Chesapeake Rippers". Will Will give Jack the justice he and his riders deserve, or will he fall victim to the complicated life of Hannibal and his Rippers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bɪᴋᴇs & Bᴇᴇʀ

Will Graham tilted back a beer. His eyes were dry, red, and blurry from the ride to the bar. It had been a particularly cold winter, the snow started falling on Halloween, and now the entire Northeast was cast head first into an obnoxiously frigid climate. 

Just because it was cold, however, didn't mean that it was always snowing. Though a few good nights of snowfall made sure that the weather stayed chilled, it didn't last long, and the snow would melt from days under the sun, and natural evaporation, rather than warmth. Now, the streets were clear, and the brown grass lay crushed, compacted from the thick flakes that fell upon them earlier in the year. It was supposed to be a long, cold winter. 

Will sat back in his chair, heaving a low sigh, and his feet firmly hooked on the bars of his stool, the slick leather of his biker's boots rubbing against the polished metal. His motorcycle helmet was sitting on the bar counter in front of him, a simple black helmet that had a soft, padded interior, which kept his head and face safe from both potential accidents, and the bitter winter wind. The gloves on his hands were the cheapest biker's gloves he could get, smooth leather and vaguely rough on the inside, but also for the purpose of protection. His gloved hand clasped tighter around his beer again, before he swung it back once more, eyes closing with the light effort of tilting his skull all the back to finish off the bottle. 

He needed this. 

The interior of the bar was dark, overcast with a dim red that gave it more of the feel of a strip joint than a bar. The ceiling fan lights, which were usually only ever on for certain events and emergencies, remained dull and dark, and there was a general shadow within the bar's main seating area, a lack of light. But even though the establishment itself wasn't well lit, and seemed shadowed, that didn't mean that the bar workers and patrons followed suit. The bar itself was known for being run in good hands, being fairly clean of illicit activities, and wasn't exactly known as a place to go for the "hardcore" experience found in other establishments. It was usually quite, besides the occasional drunkard being tossed onto the street, and the bikers that did find themselves there were perfectly content with the calm atmosphere, or completely enraged. There usually was no in between. 

The sound of loud, hearty laughter drew Will from the empty bottle in his grasp, the first bottle of probably a few more to come, and he flicked his gaze back over his shoulder. 

The bar's counter was occupied with several other bikers, calling, joking, and laughing to a few more that were not too far away, seated in a couple of booths. Both sides seemed fairly buzzed. 

Will studied their jackets, noticing that the men at the bar all had the same patch spread across their back.

_The Forensics_. Will blinked at the patch, staring at the logo squarely centered on their jackets. The logo itself was a simple, classic compass, pointing North, East, South and West, with a thin outline of the directions in between. _The Forensics_ was arched over the North direction, written boldly in italicized lettering. That was the name of their club. _Quantico, Virginia_ lay arched down under the South, also in italicized lettering, but not bold. That was their location. 

A Motorcycle Club could unite under the same name, and lay in different cities and countries all over the world. The famous _Hell's Angels_ were the best example, with their large numbering scattered over the entirety of the United States, Australia, and God knew where else. 

Will lightly grimaced as he glanced towards the booths, spotting the same _Forensics_ logo on the back of the other jackets. It would make sense that they would be so rowdy, when they probably biked down every road in Virginia together. He self consciously pulled his own jacket up tighter around his shoulders, lifting the collar to better hide his face. He didn't feel like being questioned about his whereabouts in the supposed turf of another club. Will continued to eye them, though, glancing at the patches that some wore on the front of their jackets, and others on the arms. All of their patches said _Investigator_ on them. Will relaxed slightly. None of these men were men of power in their club, and, therefore, had no right to question what he was doing on their turf.

Although this was true, Will was suddenly aware of his own jacket's emptiness. He never found the joy in being in a Motorcycle group, club, gang, or otherwise. His jacket was sparse, the only patch being his Lone Wolf patch, centered in his back. It was a large patch, easily visible, and stood for his unwillingness to belong to a group. The patch itself was a snarling, tribal canine, the words _LONE WOLF_ arched above, and _NO CLUB_ arched below. It was a symbol that was commonly recognized among the biking community. Will was no threat to their territory. 

Still, their rambunctious attitude was ticking at Will's mind. He ran his fingers around the edge of the counter, tapped his foot lightly, at sat there for a good few minutes, waiting for the howling men to calm their hysterics. Alas, they didn't. With a visible grimace on his face, and his shoulders hunched in irritation, Will ordered another beer, and stalked outside with his bottle clasped in one hand, and his helmet in the other. Perching upon his simple, standard bike, which was a blue-green color, best described as sage, Will finished his bottle, threw it in the nearest garbage can, and rode home alone.

* * *

 

It would be a few more days that Will would show up to the bar, and leave thoroughly fuming at the loud behavior of some of the bikers. Each time, he would glance at their jackets, and over half the time their patch labeled them under the club _The Forensics_. While their loud chatter wasn't enough for them to be a nuisance to anyone else, they irked Will in the way it seemed only he could be irked; Being quite enough for other people, but much too loud for him. 

It seemed that everyone else in the bar never cared about their loud jokes or whooping nature, and the bikers never did anything illegal or dangerous in the bar, that could be seen. Whether it was Will's sensitive communication skills, or just his rotten attitude, he didn't know, but they just seemed _rude_. 

One night was particularly awful. Will did what he always did, waited for the winter to give him an early sunset, feed his dogs, and take a calming ride to the bar, but when he entered there were more _Forensics_ than he had seen there in the past week. They completely filled one half of the bar, farthest from the door, and were cracking jokes around the edges of their circle, making chatter with the bartenders. They weren't harmful, or offensive, but they were loud. Immediately, Will felt his eye begin to twitch, as he sat a few chairs in on the bar, rolling some money out onto the countertop. The bartender closest to him, who only a moment ago had been leaned over the counter as one of the _Forensics_ explained some of his various patches, eyed Will, before sliding a chilled beer over the counter, and palming his money into the drawer. Will's attitude was acidic. 

The night drew on, _Forensics_ came and went, some going out and then back in repeatedly, and Will bought and drank more beers. As the alcohol started to drip steadily into his bloodstream, he became more and more irritated. 

Will was about to walk out, when the room suddenly quieted from the roaring laughter to a dull murmur. Will raised his head, bloodshot eyes scanning around the room, before resting on the door of the bar. A large man, strong, and controlled, was making his way into the bar. He still wore his leather gloves, and his boots were worn and dusty, but he only wore jeans and a lightly impressive jacket, covered in various patches. He was working his helmet off of his head as he made his way around the tables, taking a seat only a chair away from Will, and calmly muttering, "Just a beer, thanks."

The obnoxious laughter and hooting hadn't returned, yet. Will let his shoulders sag, taking an appreciative swig from his beer. In his buzzed state, he wasn't sure if he said the words aloud.

"Glad someone can control 'em."

The man glanced over, his eyes dull, his face hardened. Will immediately shrunk back, just a bit, taking another drink of alcohol to avoid having to look at the man's face.

"Were they being rowdy, before I came in?"

Will shrugged, staring down at the man's gloved hands on the smooth bar rather than his face, or his eyes, "Kinda," he grumbled, resisting the urge to tell the unknown man just how often the particular group of bikers swayed him from a peaceful night of booze.

An irritated sigh rushed from the man, making Will's shoulders jump in surprise. Will raised his gaze to the man's shoulders, watching as he turned around to glance at the mob of bikers. His jacket also read _The Forensics_ on the back. When he turned back, Will watched his hands go to his jacket zipper, partly opening it. _President_ was patched on the front of his jacket, in the same bold, italicized text that the _Forensics_ logo was created in. 

"Sorry about that," the man stated, and, if it was possible, Will thought his voice sounded even more deep and annoyed than before, "they just don't understand volume, when they're all together, like that."

Will shrugged again, just as a beer was handed to the man sitting not too far from him. It was clutched in a leather-clad hand, strong and unwavering. "That's alright," Will grumbled out, joining him in a sip of alcohol, "they must be really close."

"They are."

Silence overtook the two, and they were vaguely aware of the other's presence, but not irritated, bothered, or put off by it. They were just there. 

"When did you make it?" Will asked suddenly, setting his bottle down on the counter.

"Make what?" grumbled the man back at him, too lost in thought, or beer, to understand his implied question.

" _The Forensics_ ," Will gestured towards his jacket, particularly his _President_ patch. 

There was a few moments of silence, before the man spoke up, "It was handed down to me," he started, his voice dull, "kinda like a job. I was vice for a while." 

Will raised his gaze to the dark-skinned man, now, studying his face now that the other was staring down at the counter, and not at him. 

"What happened to the last one?" Will inquired lightly, not caring much for the answer. His tone was as flat as soda left in the sun for days.

"Wasn't wearing a helmet," was all that needed to be said, and understanding passed through Will as easily as it would pass through any other biker. 

They finished their beers in silence, and it wasn't so much as an uncomfortable silence than a polite silence. 

After both bottles were gone, and Will was watching the group of significantly calmer bikers, a voice startled him from his thoughts, "Jack. The name's Jack Crawford."

Will was vaguely aware of a hand being stuck out to him. He took it, more or less out of the desire to be polite than actually craving physical contact with the near stranger, "Will Graham." 

"Will," Jack clicked on his tongue, eyeing the Lone Wolf. Will stared down and away, dully.

"You always been a Lone Wolf?" 

Will shrugged, turning fully back to the bar, and sliding more money upon the counter, "Never really had a group that called out to me. Not one for formalities of social standards."

"Not even interested in being a Prospect Member?" Jack questioned, staring at the Lone Wolf patch that was partially visible from Jack's angle on his jacket. Prospects were members that were, more or less, on trial. They weren't full members, but they had a Prospect patch, and were being taught the ropes of the club by other members. If they wanted to stay, or go, that was a choice made by both themselves, and the President of the club. Will didn't answer, but gave a light shrug. Body language was much more comfortable for him than literal language, if Will could convey his point without actually having to open his mouth, he'd use it. 

Jack downed another drink, while Will got himself a water, in an attempt to wash the alcohol from his system before it was time to go home. It was nearing 12:30 when Will stood up, zipped up his jacket, and grabbed his helmet. He was just about to turn towards the door when a voice caught his attention, making him tuck his helmet beneath his arm and glance backwards. It was Jack.

"Will."

Will eyed him, one of his gloved hands twitching lightly.

"Be careful out there." 

"You too, Jack."

* * *

 

Will pulled up into the gas station, the florescent light making him squint as he pulled off his helmet, hanging it on his handlebars. He stepped off his bike, boots clicking against the pavement as he shifted to turn towards the gas pump. It was nearing one in the morning, and on a cold night like this, the gas station was empty, save for a rickety truck on the far side, and employee cars parked in front of the storefront of the station. Will pushed his debit card into the machine, grabbed the pump, and stood there, waiting. 

A rumbling caught Will's attention, making him raise his gaze to the gas station entrance. 

A slick, smooth sportsbike was gliding into the entrance, sliding next to a pump a few over from Will's. The bike itself was slick, and black, with a simple white stripe gliding up the middle of it. Will studied the bike, lightly impressed by its assumed value, before eyeing the man on the bike itself. He kept his helmet on, presumably against the cold winter air, and slid from his bike with long, lithe legs. He turned his back to Will, dragging out a fine black wallet, and working at the pump. 

Will stared at the back of the man's jacket, curious to see his patches. He hadn't seen the bike, or its owner, around the area before. 

_Chesapeake Rippers_ was arched near the collar, oddly elegant in font, italicized. _Baltimore_ was arched the opposite direction, on the bottom. That was an awfully long way for the member to be out riding, at this time of night. But Will wasn't staring at the name, or the area. He was staring at the logo fixed tightly in the center of the jacket. 

A long, slender Stag skull, black in coloration, with intricate, twisting antlers was staring at him with colorless, white eyes. White teeth shined against the black skull, matching the eyes of the Stag perfectly. It was a logo unknown to Will, in all his hours of riding in the area. 

Will was shaken from his thoughts when the man turned, placing his wallet on the seat of his bike. _President_ shown firmly against his chest, on the left side, along with other, smaller patches. Will felt a tingle of unease run down the base of his spine. Where were his riders? What was a President doing out on the roads alone, at this hour of the morning? What was he doing so far from Baltimore? Will glanced back at the gas pump, cursing as he realized the amount of money he'd just spent on gasing up his bike. At least he wouldn't have to gas up again for a while. Quickly, he pulled the pump from his vehicle, sheathing it back into the station, glancing upwards again. 

The man must have heard his curse, because he was still, head angled in his direction. Through the tinted helmet visor, Will could feel eyes burning into his body. He straightened, fastened his helmet, and was off and away from the station in no more than fifteen seconds, leaving behind the uneasy feeling of the man at the pump.

He didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually very excited for this! Here's an incredibly long first chapter. I want to have this be the slowest slowburn possible. Like, honestly, this is going to be so much fun to write, with all this detail and such.
> 
> Anyways, Kudos, Comment, and message me any errors in spelling! I'll greatly appreciate them, this was written in the span of a few hours.
> 
> I have a Tumblr! Message me or simply check me out at HijackTheJackal, same name that's used here. Enjoy!


	2. Mᴜʀᴅᴇʀ & Mɪsᴄʜɪᴇғ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇs ᴠɪsɪᴛɪɴɢ Jᴀᴄᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ's ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏᴇs ᴛᴏ ʜɪs ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ʙᴀʀ, ʜᴇ ᴡɪsʜᴇs ʜᴇ'ᴅ sᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ʜᴏᴍᴇ.

Will began to feel more comfortable in the bar setting, again. _The Forensics_ had started to calm down, the more rowdy of them were told to stay outside, according to Jack, when their volumes and liquor couldn’t be controlled. It was a solution that eased the frustration that had been throbbing inside of Will Graham since the gang started frequenting the bar. And, since his _Investigators_ and _Trainees_ (The term Jack dubbed New Members as) had been frequenting the bar, Jack had too. His presence eased the other riders, made them aware of their actions and, more appreciatively, their volume, and most nights when Jack would stalk in, leather jacket stiff from the cold, Will was already there, downing his first or second beer. Jack would sit with his riders on occasion, but most of the time he would just sit at the bar, looking lightly stressed, and order a beer or two right off the bat. Jack was a man that could hold his liquor well, and as the night progressed, the two would find themselves in light conversation. It was through this light conversation that Will became more aware of exactly who _The Forensics_ were.

According to Jack, _The Forensics_ were a rather large group of Bikers, mostly sticking to the Quantico, Virginia area, but they often spilled out because of their size. Jack Crawford had been _President_ of _The Forensics_ for several years now, and the group swelled under his appreciative care. All positions of _Vice President_ , _Secretary_ , _Treasurer_ , and _Sergeant at Arms_ were taken, held by members of _The Forensics_ that had been incredibly helpful and understanding through the rough management that Jack had to go through. _Trainees_ were kept as New Members for half a year, to a year, and when they were finally ranked up to become an _Investigator_ , the entire Gang would rally together, especially when more than one _Investigator_ had been named. _Visitors_ were the name that Jack used for Trial members, and, like most clubs, he didn’t bother much with _Hangarounds_ , which were simple considerations for _The Forensics_ club.

“I suppose I’d like to consider you a _Hangaround_ ,” Jack had mumbled softly, after swigging from his beer. Will eyed him, one foot raised on the foot bar of the barstool, the other hanging limply down to nearly touch the floor with his durable leather boots. Will had been quiet most of the night while Jack explained more of their work to him, from their Neutral-Good behavior, to the few times they rallied up to actually defend their turf with tooth and nail, legally or illegally.

“Don’t bother,” was all that Will had said, looking into the watery amber of his beer.

 

* * *

 

Will struggled in his sleep, fisting the mattress with pale white knuckles. Sweat dripped down the crevice of his chest, staining a line down the center of his shirt in a messy fashion. His eyes suddenly flung open, and Will heaved himself upwards, scrambling back on his hands, legs drawn up to himself.

All that surrounded him was his dogs, who were pacing nervously back and forth, tails at half mast, and twitching. Will trembled a breath out of his body, before grabbing a damp towel from the end of his bed. Nightmares were no stranger to Will Graham.

Winston lightly woofed at Will, head cocked to the side, paws kneading at the ground in a nervous dance. Will eyed the mutt, his eyes bloodshot and tired, “Hush, boy. I’m alright.”

The dogs could probably smell the heated pulse of his heart, and the sweaty fear that left him musky and damp.

Will eyed the clock, blinking sleep from his eyes as he stared at the fluorescent red numbers.

It was 2 AM.

Will groaned, tilting his head back towards the ceiling, letting the towel sink into his lap with defeat. It was too early to get up, but too late to get back to sleep and actually rest. He sat there a moment, debating his options, before slowly swinging his heavy legs out of bed.

 

* * *

 

The road was damp from melting snow, the air chilled, but it felt real. The cold air, the way it smelled, the way it tasted, even, felt real. If there was one thing that felt real to Will Graham between days fishing and nights writhing in terror, it was the open road. It was the release of being a step from death, and having complete control over whether or not you die. It was grabbing the handlebars of a bike, feeling the engine pumping vibrations beneath the seat, and sliding out into the highway. It was speeding at about 85 down abandoned roads, with no traffic ahead or behind of you. It was being able to get away.

When Will pulled up to the bar, the dim red lights still glowing from the inside, he stayed perched on his bike. It was about 2:20; a speedy, illegal ride had carried him faster than he initially thought.

As Will turned the key, successfully killing his engine, he lifted the visor of his helmet, glancing through the parking lot. It was rather empty, but it always was, this time of night. There were several cars that belonged to the few employees that were working at the moment, the ones that would close the bar at around 6 AM, and come back sometime after it opened again after 5 PM, and several bikes.

Will eyed the red cruiser bike, studded with custom, silver tribal paint along the sides, that was most certainly Jack Crawford’s. Black just didn’t suit it for Jack, and Will had seen him ride the red cruiser with the silver tribals, and a chopper, with the american flag painted along the bike. More often than not, Jack rode the red cruiser.

Will stood from his bike, removing his helmet, before stalking inside. There was one bartender, who was tiredly wiping away at the countertop, glancing up at Will only to nod a light nod. Will nodded back, barely, before his eyes scanned around the rest of the establishment. There were maybe five other bikers there, spread out around the bar, not including Jack Crawford. Jack was seated at the bar already, a symphony of empty beer bottles and cans in different sizes and colors in front of him. He had to be plastered, now, but Will had seen the man drink just as much as him and not even get a buzz.

When Will strode over to the counter, setting his helmet down upon the smooth, freshly-polished surface, Jack raised his head. His eyes were distant, bloodshot, and for a moment Will truly did believe that alcohol had successfully claimed Jack Crawford, and rendered him incapable. It was only when he spoke that Will realized how wrong he was.

“Hey, Will.”

There wasn’t a single stutter or slur in his voice. Will carefully sat down, glancing down at the mass of empty bottles and cans in front of Jack.

“Did you have a party without me, Jack?” Will’s joke was dull, but it was his way of asking if the older man was alright. Jack didn’t laugh, he just sat there, turning his head back to the bar counter, staring down at nothing. Jack was eyeing empty space, but there was the faraway look in his eyes of a man that had just seen hell itself.

“We found one of my _Investigators_ dead, today.”

It was Will’s turn to not laugh.

“She was dead in our own turf,” Jack’s voice was barely above a whisper, a rumbling growl of explanation that didn’t want to be explained.

Will sat for a moment, before dragging out his wallet, pulling out enough cash for two beers, and a few shots. The bartender took some of the money, passing him two chilled bottles, and Will grabbed them firmly in his leathered hands, drinking in the mist that was rising from the neck of the bottle before taking a firm swig. Once a good portion of the alcohol had been ingested, Will turned towards Jack, “Tell me everything.”

So, Jack did. Will listened as Jack told him how they couldn’t get hold of one of his most loyal _Trainees_ , a certain Miriam Lass that never failed to miss an important meeting, phone call, or date. This time, Miriam had missed the second of the options. Jack had called her, having not seen her at the bars or on the road in several days, and tried over the course of about twelve hours to get in contact with her. Every time he rung her house phone, or her cell phone, he just received her cheery voice mail. It was the kind of happy recording that you didn’t expect from a loyal biker. Miriam was something special, as Jack described her. With a good head on her shoulders and a firm understanding of the law of the land, their gang, and Jack appreciated her company. She was no more than a few months from her Ranking ceremony, where she would have been named an _Investigator_ , and an indispensable part of _The Forensics_ gang. When Jack couldn’t reach her by phone, and red flags started to go off in his head, he sent all of the available _Investigators_ out onto the roads, ensuring that they checked every restaurant, side road, and public area that Miriam could possibly be. In the end, it was Jack’s _Sergeant at Arms_ , Alana Bloom, that rang his cell phone.

“You have to come see this,” was all she said, before giving him the address. By the time he arrived, his _Vice President_ , Beverly Katz, was already there, along with his _Secretary_ and _Treasurer_ , Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price. They hadn’t called the police yet.

Miriam was strangled, her throat raw and her face purpled, her hands clutching at some unseen enemy. But her beating heart had long stopped working, and her eyes held the film of death. She’d been dead for a while. Worse, she was dead inside _The Forensics_ turf, on the border of their territory, on the edge of a desolate road, near a forest. No one had seen her because no one had driven there; Miriam wasn’t exactly hidden in the shrubbery. Her slim, grey chopper was muddied and tilted on its side, the seat slashed, the headlight busted. She had been out riding when she was killed. Jack called anonymously to the police, and _The Forensics President_ and his leading officers mounted their bikes, and road away. That was just before sunset.

“Now, I’m here,” Jack said, looking too dead to even lift his drink anymore. Retelling the story had taken all the strength left in him for the night.

Will blinked, trying to will away the burn in his chest. He could feel every aching nerve of Jack’s brain, cruel emotion trying to override his system. Jack was a man on the edge of horror. They sat there together, and Will felt like the silence was better than any words he could offer to the _President_.

“Why are you here?” Jack asked softly, as if it mattered. Will raised his gaze, tapping his slim, gloved fingers against his bottle lightly.

“I couldn’t sleep. Had a nightmare.”

It was Jack that raised his eyes to Will, this time. His deep gaze seemed to focus on Will, making the Lone Wolf shift uncomfortably, and scratch at the side of his scruffy jaw. He hated being scrutinized.

But Will’s mind started to lightly drift. He realized, as he sat there, that he did have a nightmare. He just couldn’t remember what it was about. That was far from the usual. Will Graham had realistic, graphic, mind-numbing nightmares, that woke him with his own screams. This was vague, shadowed. The rumbling sound of bikes, the shooting of guns, the screaming of men and women in pain. He had been vaguely aware of the feeling of blood washing over him, of teeth sinking into his skin. But the teeth were gentle, nipping lovingly instead of biting with force. It tugged something in him, a longing to be… what? The signs just weren’t clear enough, and it was when Will was truly interested in his own self conscious for once that his self conscious decided to be vague and infuriating. What was so passionate about blood?

“Will.”

Jack’s voice stirred him from his thoughts, and Will was vaguely aware of his bottle shaking in his hand. He took a sharp gaze towards the clock behind the counter. It was almost 3 AM. He hadn’t spaced off for too long, or the bar would be closing, and Jack would have been gone. It was just a minute, maybe less.

“Will you do it, Will?”

Will blinked quickly, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable about the current situation, “Do what?”

“Will you take a look around, for me? Look at the neighboring Biker Gangs?” Jack sounded dead serious, “They ruined her bike, Will. They didn’t have to, but they did. It was personal.”

“A rival Club?” Will questioned lightly, before moving his gaze towards Jack fully, “How do you know it wasn’t any of your own?”

“Her jacket wasn’t doing so well, when we found her. They didn’t care if they got it dirty. If someone killed her because they thought she wasn’t good enough for _The Forensics_ , they would have taken more time making sure that the logo of their Gang wasn’t soiled.” Jack was right. The colors of a Biker’s club were his flag, his motive, and his belonging. If Miriam had been killed from inside The Forensics, the offending rider would have removed her patch, or her entire coat, before the slaughter.

“And, you want me to ride around and see who’s up to what?”

Jack nodded, his eyes dull and heavy again. This topic was so upsetting to him, and it was apparent in the way he refused to talk more than necessary.

Will hesitated, before a low grumble rang forth from his mouth, “Are you asking me as Lone Wolf, or as a Hangaround?”

Jack raised his head, and for the first time since Will had met the President, he noticed his beer was shaking with how he was holding it. He was furious.

“I’m asking you as a friend.”

There was a hesitation, a pause in the air, before Will felt himself answering.

“Consider it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I was stunned by the sudden support of this. Thank you all very much, your comments, kudos, and messages on my Tumblr ensures that I post chapters faster! As always, message me with mistakes. 
> 
> \-- Note -- I know that I italicize the ranks of the club, and the club name itself. They are meant to be this way, because they're a title, and not actually what they work as (AKA, The Investigators are just called Investigators, they aren't actually any Police investigators or otherwise.) If the name isn't italicized, it's meant to be taken literally.
> 
> Comment, Kudos, and Subscribe! All of these things ensure a faster update, it motivates me greatly. 
> 
> Check me out, send a message, or follow me on Tumblr at HijackTheJackal! I'm always glad to talk with you all.


	3. Hᴏʀʀᴏʀ & Hᴀɴᴅsʜᴀᴋᴇs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴄʟᴜᴇs ᴀs ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ Mɪʀɪᴀᴍ Lᴀss, Wɪʟʟ ғɪɴᴅs ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ɢᴀɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴀɴɢ, ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴜʟᴛs ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs. Wʜᴇɴ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ʀɪᴄʜ ᴍᴀɴ ʙᴜʏs ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ᴅʀɪɴᴋ, ʜᴇ's ʜɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ.

The local headlines the next morning were incredibly infuriating.

**BIKE CRONY GETS SLASHED IN GANG’S OWN TURF**

The newspapers would kill their own editor if it meant for a good story, these days. 

Will audibly growled, the dogs on his floor raising their maws in confusion, tilting their heads to the side. Winston whimpered, near the fireplace. Will furiously crushed the paper into a ball in his hands, the sharp sound of the crumpling paper sending the dogs into a nervous skittish. It was only after Will had thrown the paper furiously into the trashcan, and flopped back down on his bed, that the dogs stopped their padding and woofing around the small room. Will sighed, and stretched. He had to get to work now, before the festering anxiety and anger of _The Forensics_ spread over him, too. Already, he could feel the waves of anxiety rippling off of Jack every time he saw him, mixed with irritation, and a heartbreaking dab of loneliness. He missed his _Trainee_ desperately. But there was nothing that anyone could do now that would bring her back. 

Quantico was located about 35 miles from Wolf Trap, about 50 minutes. The bar that Will met Jack in was about 30 minutes from his home, lying near the edge of _The Forensics’_ territory. He’d start a little bit northeast from there, closer to Baltimore, but not in either of the cities, or even in Wolf Trap. 

Will grabbed his leather jacket, sliding into his boots. It only took a few minutes to lace up, strap on his helmet, and pull out of the driveway on his slick sage bike. 

 

* * *

 

 

Now that it was established that _The Forensics_ were on the edge of their own territory, it meant that he could skirt around the idea of what the rest of their turf looked like. He rode towards Baltimore, heading a bit north instead of northeast. It was very possible, and likely, that the gang that killed Miriam was a bordering neighbor of _The Forensics_. Unfortunately, Gang turfs were not states, with wavering outskirts, odd sizes and shapes, and spots of no-man’s-land where three or more gangs would meet at a point. It was like cutting the corners off of a puzzle, and then fitting it together again. The end result was a messy, loosely-knitted society all over the United States, and _The Forensics_ had several neighboring gangs that caught Will’s eye. 

Will pulled up to the curb of a club, spotted between Wolf Trap and Baltimore. The neon signs were all a fluorescent blue, flickering and buzzing. Removing his helmet, and glancing wearily around, Will stalked inside. 

The floors were polished black, giving a faded over reflection. The inside of the bar held the same fluorescent blue glow as the signs on the outside had, the same kinds of lights rimmed the edge of the room, black lights highlighting gorgeous tattoo designs on the far wall. There were a few men in leather jackets sitting at the bar, _The Celtics_ spreading their backs. Will took a seat a few chairs away, grimacing on the idea of bringing up a rival club with these men. Will pushed some money over the bar, quietly mumbling, “Just a beer, whatever’s cold.”

When his drink arrived, Will was still staring down at the black countertop. Taking the chilled drink between his leather-gripped fingers, he took the chance to steal a glance sideways at the men sitting just a few chairs away.

An electric green gaze was staring back his way. 

Will jerked lightly, his drink coming down from his lips. The eyes in question belonged to a thin, lithe man, of pale skin and long, black hair. He had bags under his eyes, a beer between his fingers, and patches of green matched flashes of green here and there on his outfit; a man who enjoyed the open road, but came from the city, came from style. A few strands of inky black hair hung in his face, lightly wavy from the day’s events. 

“Hey there, _Wolf_ ,” the stranger mumbled, his voice airy and tired, as he lifted his forefinger and middle finger from the beer he was holding in greeting. It was a greeting commonly given to bikers on the road, both hands on the bar, lifting the left hand’s forefinger and middle finger lazily. It was a greeting of a simple, “What’s up?” and was mostly out of courtesy than anything. 

Will did the same, lifting his forefinger and middle finger from the beer in his left hand, turning slightly towards the group. The other two men at the bar were looked over now, their faces neutral, and, thankfully, unaggressive. 

“Hey,” was all that Will could manage out, taking a deep sip of alcohol to avoid having to say more in greeting to the strangers. 

“I ain’t never seen you ‘round here, before. What’cha doin’ here, _Wolf_?” the man beside the black-haired biker asked. Half of his head was shaved, tattoos covering the side of his skull where the hair was trimmed short. Brown hair was combed over on the other side, a shaggy punk appearance that might have been more popular when Nirvana was still playing. It wasn’t what Will would do with his appearance, but it wasn’t bad. 

“Checking out the local groups,” Will started. When his explanation was followed with silence by the others, he added quickly, “for a friend.”

“Someone lookin’ to belong to a group?” the shaved man asked, continuing on the conversation while the other two men swigged from their drinks.

“Nah,” Will shook his head lazily, looking down at the bartop instead of their eyes, “He’s one of _The Forensics_.”

Everything was quiet, then.

“Heard they just had a new member killed,” the inky, lithe man closest to Will mumbled, swigging again from his drink. There was an air of uncomfort.

“They did.”

“And why are you lookin’ around here, then?” It was the last man who spoke, this time, the third one down. He was a muscled man, his jacket was tight against him, and his brown hair ruffled from his helmet. He was wearing a bandanna around his neck. 

Will was starting to get nervous, “He just wanted me to see what the other groups had to say about it, mostly.”

“More like, ‘He just wanted me to see what the other groups had to do with it’,” the last man grumbled in agitation, “ _The Forensics_ don’t even use their turf. Fuckin’ pussies.”

“Hey,” the inky-haired man snapped, tired eyes flicking to the other, “chill it. If it was a threat, they’d send one of their own. Ain’t that right, _Wolf_?”

Will gulped, his fingers itching. He had had about enough of talking, his eyes were firmly planted on the bartop now, fingers dancing the edge of his bottle, other hand fiddling against the barstool. The long-haired biker and the thick bandanna-boy were watching each other with warning in their eyes. Electric tension spiked the air. 

“Anyways,” the inky man spoke, his voice cool, and slick once more, “we ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. _Celtics_ ain’t too big, and besides, we don’t wander into some other gang’s turf, especially if we’re thinkin’ of murder.” Will was suddenly reminded of how uneasy the whole situation was.

“Try _Heaven’s Wolves_.” 

Will’s head snapped up, repeating the name, “ _Heaven’s Wolves_?”

“Yeah,” the middle man spoke again, his tattooed skull tipping back as he finished off his beer, “they don’t border with _The Forensics_ , but that’s a perfect cover-up. They’re north.” 

The inky man nodded at his tattooed friend, tapping his hand against the counter, “If they didn’t do it, they may know the gang who did.”

Will listened carefully, nodding as the more specific directions to the _Heaven’s Wolves_ bar were relayed to him. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was long into the night when Will pulled up to the grungy, dusty bar. He thought that the _Celtics_ had been in a shifty place, this was even moreso. The windows were smudged, the lights flickering, and Will felt uneasy as he stepped off of his bike, holding his helmet beneath his arm. He wasn’t surprised that _Heaven’s Wolves_ would know if someone killed Miriam. Giving a light gulp, he steeled himself, and pushed the door open.

Will practically had to force himself to sit in the bar. The room was dimly lit, smelled of cigarette smoke, and had grungy posters hanging on the walls. 

“ _Lone Wolf_.”

Will grimaced as he heard his patch being called, forcing himself to turn his head at the incredibly soft voice. 

A woman stood before him, clad in leather, boots rising up to her knee. _President_ was patched across the left side of her jacket, and Will felt himself almost groan. He had been hoping for a simple member, or, better yet, a new member, to get his information from. 

The woman before him had hypnotic, pale grey eyes, and her hair was dyed a bright red, brushed back into a spiky, messy ponytail. She looked sharp, sharper than the men he had encountered at the bar before this. 

“Whatcha’ doin’ in the _Heaven’s Wolves_ bar?” Her tone was cold, and her body language was colder. Some of the other _Heaven’s Wolves_ members turned their heads from around the bar, staring at their President. Will could practically feel his skin burning in the embarrassment and worry. Slowly, the girl sunk down into the barstool next to him, while a few other _Heaven’s Wolves_ got up and stood not too far behind. Will could practically see the predatory nature of her sharp gaze. 

“Looking around,” Will paused, adjusting his eyes to the rows of alcohol behind the counter, “for a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” She even sounded like she came from the northeast, her accent was steely and sharp, she may have grown up in New York, “Whatcha’ lookin’ around for?”

“For anyone who knows anything about _The Forensics_ member that was killed.”

The immediate area around them went silent. Will only stared forward, willing his face to not give away his sputtering heart. He was vaguely aware of a few of _Heaven’s Wolves_ staring him down with daggers in their eyes. 

“And you ‘mmediately thought it’d be a _Heaven’s Wolf_ to go slashin’ throats, huh?” Will didn’t need to look over, he knew the woman’s teeth were bared. These were the dark side of Gangs in the Northeast, the ones that took offence to every foot set in their turf. Will hadn’t even bought a drink yet, and already he was half aware of his own willingness to go. The amount of aggression that filled the room was suffocating. 

Will was sputtering for an answer now, stumbling over his own words, “No-No that’s not it. I was told, by some bikers- Fuck.”

A sharp laugh echoed from somewhere behind him, “It wasn’t none of those slimy _Chesapeake Rippers_ , was it?”

Will’s heart stilled. The name was so very familiar, when spoken out loud. He turned his head, eyeing the man behind him that the voice had come from, “The who?”

“ _Chesapeake Rippers_ ,” the _President_ finished for him, her voice low with a growl, “fuckin’ nasty fuckers. What’s worse is that they’re Goddamn everywhere, they’re practically rats.”

Will turned his gaze back to the woman. He wasn’t aware of his own pounding pulse, now. 

“Where can I find them?”

 

* * *

 

 

Will looked up with unease. This was it, this was the place. 

It was late, now, nearing midnight, and Will was tired. His journey had began as the sun had started to go down. Now, it might even be too late to get what little information he thought he could, from this place. For all he knew, the _Rippers_ had gone home. Somehow, he doubted it. The biking scene always enjoyed the night thoroughly, and, in a city like Baltimore, where the history ran deep and the alcohol deeper, it was common for bars to stay open until 8 AM, and then re-open no later than 4 PM. Somehow, Will thought that this might be one of those places. 

Still, Will didn’t expect to find much. It was Midnight, he was about an hour and a half from home, and sleep tugged on his eyelids. He slid from his bike, pondering the thought of a hotel room, and slid into the bar. 

This bar was much classier than the last few he had been to, including his own. The concrete floors were uncracked, and polished. The walls were white, and on the far wall there was the intricate black painting of a snake, painted directly to the wall itself, twisting and curving from ceiling to floor. There were wooden countertops, and the overall warmth of wood filled the room, the color of amber echoed around the bar from the lights set behind and under the counter. Overall, the place felt light, with a city-modern touch; where a place looked and felt clean, but due to its location had to throw back on costs a little bit. It was charming. 

But, it was empty, save for the rustling of bottles somewhere in the back. 

Will groaned, dragging his feet to the middle of the bar, taking a rough seat. He set his helmet up on the polished wood, staring at the bottle of liquor that he had the option to order. A heavy drink sounded good, but if he was going to make it to a hotel, or home, even, he’d have to keep his drinking light. 

The swinging doors from the back swung on their hinges, and a young man strode from the back, carrying a box of stacked alcohol and supplies. Upon seeing Will, he hurriedly sat the box down, shuffling to the counter, “My sincere apologies! I didn’t hear you come in, if I had I would have come out immediately.”

Will nodded a tired nod, fiddling with his wallet, “I just need a drink. A beer,” he slid the approximate amount upon the counter, waiting for change as the bartender shuffled down a few seats, reaching under his counter, presumably where he had fridges lined up with chilled alcohol. 

Will didn’t hear the door swing gently open behind him, but he did hear it close. It was another patron, or an employee. It was too late for the _Chesapeake Rippers_ to be out, he had missed his chance tonight. He didn’t raise his head when a customer sat down a few seats down from him, leaving exactly one barstool between them. 

“Ah, don’t bother,” came the sound of an unfamiliar voice, as the bartender reached for Will’s money, “take this.”

Will raised his head at the sound of it, the smooth, foreign accent flooding over his ears. Blinking, he glanced up and to the side with tired eyes, looking the stranger up and down. 

Leather clung to his body, snug, but not too tight. A helmet, nearly matching his own, sat upon the countertop, the dark visor brought down. Slim hands were wrapped in neat leather, the stitching almost invisible on the seams, and in those slim hands was a classy wallet, holding an impressive amount of bills. The stranger was sliding a few of the bills out, before pushing them lightly against the wood countertop, “For his, and I would appreciate a Grand Mariner Cointreau.”

Will wasn’t surprised. Though the alcohol wasn’t the most expensive in the world, it was nicer than a simple beer, and more expensive than most drinks commonly found at almost every bar. 

The leather gloves folded the wallet neatly, before sliding it into a back pocket. From this angle, Will couldn’t see much of the back or front of his jacket, just his shoulder. Somehow, he found it in himself to chuckle, lightly, “Buying drinks for strange biker men?” Will grumbled out, nodding thanks to the bartender as his gloved hand gripped the neck of his bottle. 

“You looked as if you could use a nice drink without worrying about fiddling with change,” the strange man answered, there was a hint of a light tease on his tongue. 

Will closed his eyes and smirked, “Ah, I look that bad, don’t I?”

A low hum of consideration echoed from beside him, “Not necessarily bad, just tired.”

“Damn straight,” Will sighed softly, taking a long, low swig of his drink, “Thank you, by the way.”

“Not a problem, anytime,” the stranger murmured back, and for some reason Will found himself compelled to take him seriously. 

Glancing over, Will mulled over the features of the man. European, for sure. Maybe that explained the money. Eyes of amber as deep as the best whiskey half closed as he sipped from his drink. Will blinked, almost wishing he could compliment the near stranger on his appearance. He was an incredibly handsome man. 

Will turned towards him, slowly putting down his beer, and reaching a hand over. It was nice to find some calm company, tonight. He was actually longing for it. In between the fear of the Motorcycle gangs he had encountered, and the anxiety that he felt on Jack whenever they spoke, this was a pleasant change, “Will Graham,” Will announced lightly, watching the other man’s reaction. 

The opposite man blinked, set down his drink, and slid a gloved hand into his own, “Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure,” their hands lingered for an appropriate amount of time, before the men slid back to their drinks. 

Will glanced back over, leaning onto the bar with his elbows, to make sure he had seen and read the man’s jacket correctly. _President_ lay patched on Hannibal's left chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, it's lovely to bring you all this chapter! For some reason, this one was really hard to write? I don't know why, maybe it was because of all of these different characters that I didn't want to delve too deep into. Happy new year, Fannibals!
> 
> I have a Tumblr! Send me asks, fanart, headcanons, and anything else related to the Motorrad series there! I'll always reply with love~.
> 
> As always, Kudos, Comment, and Subscribe. Also, message me with any mistakes, I would love to fix them!


	4. Iɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛs & Aɢʀᴇᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ Lᴇᴄᴛᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴇᴛs ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀs ᴏғ Tʜᴇ Fᴏʀᴇɴsɪᴄs. As ʜᴇ's ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ, ʜᴇ ɢᴇᴛs ᴀ sᴜʀᴘʀɪsᴇ.

An intense rush of adrenaline punched through Will’s stomach. Maybe this was his chance to get some real information about who may have killed Miriam Lass. In between his sips of beer, Will glanced over towards Hannibal, eyeing the front of his jacket again. If he could only see the back of it, without being too noticeable or bringing up the topic.

Will slowly leaned back, stretching his arms in a nonchalant manner. It was late, probably a few minutes after Midnight, and his action seemed appropriate, given the condition he was in. Slowly, Will slid his eyes over Hannibal’s back.

His leather jacket was form-fitting, custom-tailored for sure. Hannibal wasn’t slouching, but his position, slightly leaned over his drink, made the leather fit to his shoulderblades handsomely, assuring that the jacket was thick enough to keep him warm on the road, but breathable, and stylish. Will stared at the logo hugging against Hannibal’s back.

The same Stag head, black against black leather, white eyes, and white teeth, stared back at him. _Chesapeake Rippers_ claimed the spot above the antlers. Will felt his head physically turn towards Hannibal, his concentration of stealth lost to the idea of getting a better view of the patch.

Will was shaken with the memory of seeing the logo, for the first time, at the gas station. Near Quantico. The night that Miriam Lass was killed.

Will’s breathing quickened, his hand wrapped tightly around the neck of his bottle, and his foot tapped nervously on the barstool.

The _President_ of _The Chesapeake Rippers_ , the same man that Will had questionably seen at the gas station. The one that made him feel like he was being watched by a wolf.

Will glanced over, eyeing the helmet that sat atop the bar. The tinted visor looked the same, and the idea that those whiskey-tinted eyes were watching him so intensely made Will shake, a little. He quickly hunched back into the bar, sipping nervously from his alcohol.

“Will?” A handsome voice purred beside him, laced with curiosity. Will’s eyes flashed nervously over, but he could no longer look at the man’s face in any way, let alone his eyes, “Well, Will, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Will chuckled, accidentally. The sound was shaken, and odd, given the fast pace of his heart, and he dropped his gaze even further, “I’m probably just a lot more tired than I thought.” Even his voice sounded weak.

“Is that so? Where is it that you live?” The bartender was busily wiping a rag along the counter, and wiping down bottles underneath the bar. Their conversation was as good as private.

“Wolf Trap,” Will winced at himself. He was too used to being so brutally honest, that it didn’t occur to him to give a fake address until the name of the town spilled from his lips.

“My, Will, that’s a bit of a drive, especially this late in the night, and even more so with a beer behind your tongue. Will you be alright to drive home?”

“I’ll be fine.” The words spilled from Will’s lips before he could really think of them. Any more acts of hospitality from this man would make his hands quake.

 _He’s just a man. He’s another_ President _, like Jack, but he’s just a man. This whole day has gotten you more shaken up than you initially thought, Graham._

He was a wiry, deeply unsettling man.

They sat in silence, sipping in the low light of the bar. The bartender would come over and glance at Hannibal, tilting his head in silent question, and Hannibal would just raise his hand, barely over the table, to single he was alright. The Bartender would glance at Will, too, but Will would pretend not to notice, trailing his tired eyes down the line of the counter.

It was about twelve-fourty when Will abruptly stood, reaching for his helmet. He could feel Hannibal eyeing him, his own drink almost gone as well. It had been a slow drink, a seemingly calm drink, but Will had made himself drink slowly, in an attempt not to seem nervous. He set the beer bottle aside and fumbled with his helmet’s visor.

“Had enough for the night, Will?” Hannibal questioned lightly. His tone was still light, airy, and handsome.

“Plenty,” Will grumbled back, nodding a quick thanks to the Bartender. The faster he could get out of there, the faster he could get back to Wolf Trap, and talk to Jack about his small findings. The faster he could sleep, even though sleep wouldn’t be easy, with his head wrapped around Miriam Lass and her mangled body.

He was about to stride towards the door, when a hand caught his shoulder. It was warm, and terrifyingly inviting, “Will,” it was Hannibal’s voice again, “we should meet up again sometime. It’s nice to have a drink later in the evening, when the day is done. Perhaps next time we could do wine, or something a bit more tasteful.”

Will found himself nodding, just to remove himself from the situation, “Yeah, we should do that.”

The hand on his shoulder remained, “Then is it too much trouble to ask for your phone number? I’m not a man that finds himself texting very often, but it’s incredibly useful to send addresses and other information.”

Will’s back was stiff, and he felt his gloved fingers twitching, nervously. Sweat misted his palm, inside the leather. He’d turn his gloves inside out when he got home.

“I guess,” Will found himself mumbling out. There was no way for him to decline without seeming incredibly off-beat. He reached into his pocket, fumbling with his small phone, before flipping it open for Hannibal, “What’s your number?”

“Ah, don’t bother,” Hannibal lightly chimed in, sliding his hand from Will’s shoulder to his phone. Will couldn’t ignore the way Hannibal’s hand slid over his own to take the device. For a man that sent chills down his spine, Hannibal was incredibly warm. Hannibal had Will’s phone in one hand, and his own in the other, glancing from screen to screen to press his number in, “I know it’s late for you, I wouldn’t want you to have to fumble with these small buttons.” In a moment it was done, and Hannibal gently slid Will’s phone back into his own hand. Will glanced at the contact, eyeing the name.

**_Dr. Hannibal Lecter._ **

“You’re a doctor?” Will asked curiously, his eyes moving back to Hannibal again. He felt himself twitch as he saw that Hannibal was looking at him, too.

“Was, for a while anyways,” Hannibal chuckled, glancing at his phone. Will looked down, seeing he had saved Will’s number as well, _WILL GRAHAM_ was typed out on the top of his screen. Hannibal’s thumb ghosted over the _SAVE_ button, before he slid his phone away, “my heart just called more or less to the open road, and I thought I should follow it. What do you do, Will?”

Will was looking down, now, taking in Hannibal’s slick leather boots, polished and buckled, and expensive.

“I taught for a while,” Will mumbled out, phone still in hand, “bills aren’t really a big deal anymore, so I make and sell fishing lures, now. In the summer I make an extra buck with the fish I catch.”

“Ah, a fisherman,” Hannibal praised lightly, nodding, “Takes a good amount of skill to make money on it, you must be very skilled.”

“It started out as a pastime,” Will sighed out, reaching for his helmet. It was itching to go, the idea of getting information about who may have killed Miriam Lass was behind him, now.

Hannibal glanced down at his helmet, “Well, since it’s not getting any earlier in the night, I shall let you go. Returning home sounds rather pleasant, right now.”

Will glanced down at his phone again, still alight with Hannibal’s information. He quickly pressed _SAVE_ , wincing at himself. Hannibal had his number, if he called Will up it’d be important to know who he was talking to.

Will must have let the silence linger too long, because Hannibal’s voice broke his thoughts again, “Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Doctor Lecter.”

“Ah,” Hannibal chuckled, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out some crisp bills, which he set on the counter. A tip.

“Call me Hannibal.”

“Alright,” Will nodded, adjusting his gloves, “Goodnight, Hannibal.”

 

Will walked out of the bar before Hannibal did. He mounted his bike, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot. As he glanced in his rearview mirror, he saw Hannibal stride out and start to do the same. The Chesapeake Rippers logo was staring at right at him. Will felt himself rev the gas.

 

* * *

 

The next time that Will saw Jack, he was at the usual bar. But, he wasn’t alone.

When Will strode into the red-tinted atmosphere, clouded with cigarette smoke and chatter, Jack was already there. He was seated at the bar, drink in hand, looking a tad more light than usual. _Forensics_ members flanked him on each side. Will sat at the end of the bar, starting himself with a beer, like normal. His voice must have caught the ears of Jack, who glanced up and down the bar, “Will, you’re here,” Jack noticed, and Will could feel a few of the _Forensics_ members at the bar gaze at him too.

Jack stood, and went to go sit beside him, bridging the one-seat gap between himself and the first _Forensics_ member, “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” Will admitted, nodding his silent thanks to the bartender as a beer was slid his way. Will couldn’t ignore the light sag of Jack’s shoulders, and his firm gaze, “You found nothing at all?”

“Not much means something, but it’s still not much,” Will sighed out.

Jack raised his shoulders, “Well, what, then?”

“I found out who it wasn’t.”

Jack nodded, “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t _The Celtics_ , and it wasn’t _Heaven’s Wolves_.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “Are those the only two you’ve met so far?”

Will took a long swig from his beer before answering, letting the silence linger, “I met up with the _President_ of _The Chesapeake Rippers_.”

“You think it was them?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t stay long.”

Jack let out a sigh, his fingertips tapping against the polished bartop, “And why not?”

The sigh that Will let out followed Jack’s, just more elongated, more sarcastic, “It was late, Jack. That, and the guy didn’t make me feel right.”

“Hannibal Lecter, you mean?”

Will eyed Jack, now, feeling a little uneasy at the name, “How do you know him?”

“We share a border, Will. Territories had to be disputed at some point.”

“So you all don’t get along?”

“That’s not what I said,” Jack shook his head, “They’re fine neighbors, but we did meet up a few times, them and us. Nothing severe ever happened, but I don’t think they were too happy with a new set of neighbors. That was when I was still just a member.”

“Was Hannibal leading _The Chesapeake Rippers_ then, too?”

Jack nodded, “He’s their founder. Some argue he’s so damn good at doing it that he’s convinced his members into a small monthly fee for upkeep around their area, and the bar that they go to. The thing is, they’ve got so many members that the membership fee itself pays for everything right down to his gas money.”

Will cocked his head to the side, “Surely they aren’t that big? He paid for my drink, last night.”

“They’re not gigantic, and I’m sure he has a job, but in terms of his bikes, his _Rippers_ have got him covered. Not like he needs it. You let him buy you a drink?” Jack eyed Will, and Will could feel the uneasy feeling of embarrassment wash over him.

“He offered. Did it before I could object. And he gave me his number.”

Jack seemed even more interested now, “Are you going to meet up with him again?”

“I don’t know. Should I?”

“Do you know his _Rippers_ didn’t do it?”

“No,” Will practically groaned. The feeling of his phone in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy, and Will thought that he’d feel the vibrating buzz of an incoming call at any moment.

“Then humor him.”

Will’s eyes slid shut as he sighed. He kept them closed for a moment, as he sipped on his beer. He felt Jack watching him.

It was Jack that broke the silence, “I’ve got some important _Forensics_ for you to meet, Will.”

Will’s eyes popped open, “And who would that be?” he questioned lightly.

“Well, they’re right here.”

Will glanced up and down the bar. Several _Forensics_ were staring at him, now, their faces light. They were a lot more comfortable right now than he was.

“Will Graham, this is Beverly Katz, my _Vice_.” Jack motioned to Beverly, an asian woman with a light smile and intense eyes. She flipped him a little wave, before crossing her arms again. Will could only nod back and attempt a smile.

“The rest are Brian Zeller, my _Secretary_ , _Treasurer_ , Jimmy Price, and the one at the end is Alana Bloom, my _Sergeant at Arms_.”

Will eyed the group, his eyes lingering on Alana for a moment, before he mumbled back to Jack, “Fine group, you got there.”

“I’d have to agree,” Jack chuckled, and Will saw Beverly chuckle too before turning back to Zeller, “It’s rare that we all get to meet up like this. It’s a nice change.” That would explain Jack’s happier attitude. Will suspected that he felt better when he had his crew around.

 

The evening continued, and Will kept himself sober, holding back from more alcohol than he should drink. The sun was down when he walked out into the cool winter air, but it was only about 8 pm.

As Will mounted his bike, and set his hands on the handlebars, about ready to drive home, he felt a buzzing in his pocket. Reaching down, he pulled his phone out, staring at the caller I.D.

 _Dr. Hannibal Lecter_ was scrolling across his screen.

Will sat there a moment, staring down at his phone, debating whether or not to answer it. On about the fifth ring, he flipped his phone open, and put it against his ear.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Will. I was thinking I caught you at a bad time,” Hannibal’s crisp voice was filtering through the other line.

“Not really, no. I was about to drive home.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll make this quick. Would you like to get together again for some drinks sometime? I found our conversation lightly amusing, whether it was the time of day or the atmosphere, I don’t know for sure, but you seemed like an interesting individual, and it’s rare to find an individual that truly interests me.”

Will listened to Hannibal ramble lightly, staring at the neon _OPEN_ sign of the bar. He didn’t know how to answer the question.

“Well, uh,” Will stalled for a moment, trying to find out if there was any way he could refuse. He’d rather be at home with his dogs, attempting to get some sleep, “what day would we be talking about?”

“This Friday, perhaps? It’s the starting night of the weekend, and hopefully you would find it far enough ahead in advance that I didn’t clash with any other schedule.”

Will racked his brain, trying to find an excuse for Friday evening. It was too cold to go out fishing, and his lures could be made in the daytime as well as the nighttime. It’s not like he had a date, and saying he did was highly unbelievable. Accepting defeat, Will held back the sigh he wanted to let out against the phone, “This Friday sounds fine.”

“Excellent,” Will could hear the smile on Hannibal’s lips, “This Friday it is, then. Although, I’d hate to make you drive all the way to Baltimore for us to meet up at the same place. A closer location, perhaps? I know a lovely little place, out of the way, that serves some fine drinks.”

“That sounds fine, Hannibal. Why don’t you send me the address?”

“I most certainly will,” Hannibal agreed, his voice getting a tad softer, “Be safe on the road, Will.”

“I will,” Will agreed, “Talk to you later.”

“We most certainly shall. Good evening, Will.”

And with that, the call was ended. Will held the phone against his ear, before lowering it and sliding it away. Already his limbs felt heavy. His phone buzzed again in his pocket, presumably the address that Hannibal was to send.

What did Will get himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! Work got to me, and you guys know how important Work is. I hope you enjoy this one~! Looks like we're finally starting to get into some Hannibal / Will dynamic~! I really meant it when I said that this would be a slowburn, Will doesn't even really know Hannibal, yet. 
> 
> As always, Kudos, Comment and Subscribe~! And send my any typos, I'll be glad to fix them. 
> 
> Next chapter should come shortly~!


	5. Rᴇᴀsᴜʀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ & Rᴇɢʀᴇᴛs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ Gʀᴀʜᴀᴍ ᴍᴇᴇᴛs ᴛʜᴇ Rɪᴘᴘᴇʀs, ᴀɴᴅ ɪs ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴏғ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ sᴇᴛ ᴏғғ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ.

Will put his feet upon the cold asphalt, his bike sliding to a stop. He was at  _ The Chesapeake Rippers _ bar, again.

 

When Will had gotten home the night that Hannibal had called him, they sent a short relay of texts. The conversation had started with Hannibal’s text of the location of where he wanted to get drinks at.

 

**WG :** Saved the location, is this where you want to meet up?

 

**HL :** Is this where _ you _ want to meet up?

 

Will had sat there, staring at the bright screen of his phone. Although the location was close, he always felt uncomfortable walking into places he’d never been in before. He eyed the address again, before lightly shaking his head in thought.

 

**WG :** I wouldn’t want to get there before you, and have to explain myself to everyone inside.

 

**HL :** You’re a rather nervous person, Will. 

 

**WG :** I’ve been told.

 

**HL :** No worries, Will. It’s alright. Would you like to meet up at the bar that we met at, then?

 

**WG :** Sounds good.

 

**HL :** Then that’s where I’ll meet you, at seven, if you’re so inclined to be there by then. 

 

**WG :** Seven sounds fine.

 

**HL :** Excellent, then I shall see you then. By the way, Will, look out for my  _ Rippers _ . They’ll be around, that early in the evening. They shouldn’t give you any trouble. 

 

**WG :** I’ll keep that in mind. 

 

**HL :** Excellent. Goodnight, Will.

 

Will flipped his phone shut. Hannibal Lecter was proving to be a difficult man to avoid. Will had met Jack at the bar, and although they talked frequently, and kept in contact, it was somehow different than this. It seemed as if Hannibal Lecter was rather dead set on knowing Will, or being his friend. Will had stared down at his phone, before rolling over, and going to sleep.

 

Now, Will dismounted from his bike, sliding his helmet off. He ran a chilled gloved hand through his hair, once, twice, before glancing at the other vehicles in the parking lot. Several cars were there, as well as more than a few bikes. Will grimaced, and stalked inside.

 

The inside of the bar was just as calming as before, with the low golden lights, and the comfortable atmosphere. Patrons sat in the booths, the tables, and a few at the bar. Will eyed some of the backs of the ones at the bar. _ Chesapeake Rippers _ lay across their shoulders. Glancing around further, Will noticed a few members in booths, and one or two at the tables, standing or sitting. There were a good few of them, but they didn’t overcrowd the bar. At least, not yet. 

There was something that was different about  _ The Rippers  _ than _ The Forensics _ . They had a calmer atmosphere, refined in some way. None of the members that Will saw were loud, obnoxious, or completely hammered drunk. The ones that were around were calm, light smiles and soft conversation, but they all had the same electric look in their eyes. They were all members of the same gang, and that look was the look of confidence, of knowing that they were the ones in charge. Will almost felt himself remove his jacket, and hide his  _ Lone Wolf  _ patch. He kept his jacket on. 

Scanning his eyes through the people, several different times his gaze landed on someone who may have been Hannibal, but each time the person would move, or talk, or he’d see their features clearly, and find that it wasn’t Hannibal at all, but just another  _ Ripper _ . 

Finally, his eyes settled on a man at the bar, his lithe body upright, _ Rippers _ flanking one side of him. He was gesturing towards them, apparently speaking with them, and they were talking back, looking calm and collected. And deadly. Will stalked over to the bar, and took a seat in the empty chair on the opposite side of  _ The Rippers _ . 

“Will, it’s good to see you,” Hannibal said from beside him, and whatever conversation he had been having with  _ The Rippers _ was cut short. But they didn’t move from their spots.

“You weren’t lying about them being all around here, were you?” Will said dully, setting his helmet up upon the bar. He heard a _ Ripper  _ chuckle from beside Hannibal. 

“Afraid not, Will, I’m sorry if they startled you.” It was Hannibal who chuckled lightly now, his face turned in Will’s direction. 

“If it helps, I startle myself sometimes,” came the low voice of a  _ Ripper _ from Hannibal’s other side. Hannibal’s head turned now, but there was the upturn of silent laughter in his eyes, amusement shining through.  

“Who’s the  _ Wolf _ ?” This voice was flat and feminine, but just as nonthreatening nonetheless. 

“Ah,” Hannibal glanced at Will, before glancing at his  _ Rippers _ again, “I apologize, Will, I haven’t properly introduced you, yet.”

Will glanced up now, flicking his gaze towards the  _ Rippers _ that were at Hannibal’s side. There were currently several of them, mixed men and women, a few that were in and out of the conversation farther on down the bar.

The most prominent and commanding of them were the three  _ Rippers _ by Hannibal’s side, two seated next to him and one lingering, standing. 

Hannibal gestured to a, frankly, beautiful woman, with slim, pale features and long brown hair. A bright red lipstick covered her full lips, but despite her appearance she was staring blankly at Will, the only indication she was listening was the slight raise in one of her eyebrows as she looked him up, and down, “This is Margot Verger, my  _ Secretary _ .” Margot blinked at him, her dull gaze half-lidded, before turning to the few papers she had on the bar, straightening them, “Good to meet you,” she murmured, her voice was just as dull as her expression was, flat. 

Hannibal gestured lightly to the standing woman, an asian woman with high cheekbones, beautiful skin, and intense eyes, “Chiyoh, my  _ Treasurer _ ,” he explained, and her eyes flicked over Hannibal, before returning to Will.

“It’s good to know you’ve joined us.”

Will felt himself wince. He started to raise his hand, to explain that he was here more or less as a companion than a _ Ripper _ , but Hannibal’s hand stretched out to the last member, who was sitting at the bar.

The last woman, the second one seated next to Margot, was older than her, more Hannibal’s age. Her expression was just as unreadable as Margot’s, and long blonde hair came to her shoulders, curled. It was surprising that this woman was an avid biker member, but she and Hannibal seemed to fit together, when comparing them side by side, “Bedelia du Maurier, my  _ Sergeant at Arms _ ,” the impressive title rolled over Hannibal’s lips. 

Will glanced at Bedelia. Her specific role in  _ The Chesapeake Rippers _ was to enforce and ensure their rules. This being said, she was the reason alone that any of the members at this bar were wearing a patch on their backs. It was her duty to report and suggest removal of members that didn’t fit the bill that was expected of them. What Will would consider unsightly of a _ Ripper _ , he didn’t know, but seeing these women and their _ President _ gave him a little better idea. 

Bedelia looked at Will, her eyes scanning downwards for a moment. She was all but sizing him up. When her lips did open, her voice was taut, and controlled, “A pleasure,” was all she said to him. Margot glanced over. 

“Bedelia serves as our  _ Road Captain _ , as well, when we need one. But we don’t find ourselves outside of our own territory often enough to really issue a separate member for the spot.”

She moderated the group, and controlled their pace when they were on the road? Will blinked at the realization. The woman had a lot of power behind her hands. 

A loud cursing snapped Will from his thoughts. He flicked his gaze upwards, turning his head over his shoulder. Hannibal and his executives were doing the same. 

A  _ Ripper _ was seated at the bar, staring down another _ Ripper _ , the haze of fury and alcohol in his eyes. The other _ Ripper _ was resentful, but calm, his shoulders relaxed, the only anger shown was in his face, where contempt roared like a wildfire through his features. 

Hannibal slid from his chair to stand, glancing back at Will for but a moment, “Will, my sincere apologies. It seems there’s some business that I have to finish up. I’ll be but a moment.” He took but a step, before looking at his executives, “Bedelia?” he called. It was an order to his side. Bedelia nodded, before standing with the same graceful, deadly swagger as Hannibal, and the pair made their way over to the offending table. 

Will’s eyes lingered on the pair for a moment, before a flat tone broke his thoughts, “You must be pretty special.” There was a lace of sarcasm in her tone. 

Will turned back towards her, “Excuse me?” was all he could manage. The lack of stress in their words were identical. 

“Hannibal’s always been a socialite, but he doesn’t take to other people easily. You never know exactly what he’s thinking, because he doesn’t let anyone in, that way,” Margot glanced down at her beer, and Will stared hard at his helmet, “It’s the only reason he doesn’t have a  _ Vice _ .”

Will raised his head, eyeing Margot intensely,“He doesn’t have a  _ Vice _ ?”

Margot nodded, “Yeah. Honestly, I was thinking that Bedelia would have gotten the spot, but if it hasn’t happened yet, then it won’t.”

Will glanced back over his shoulder. Hannibal was seated at the booth where the offending  _ Ripper _ was, said member looking between Hannibal and Bedelia with something akin to muted fear on his face. His outburst may have cost him his biker’s colors. 

“Who knows. Maybe that’ll change, with you around.”

Will’s head snapped back towards her. He didn’t open his mouth.

“May as well be calling you  _ Vice _ , already.”

Will found himself opening his mouth, about to strongly object, and excuse himself from the situation, but Margot beat him to it yet again, “They’re coming back. I guess that means you’ll be off with Hannibal. See ‘ya later, _ Vice _ .” Amusement rung in her tone, now. She knew exactly what she was saying.

Will stared hard at her, when a hand clasped over his shoulder, “Will. Again, I have to apologize. I assure you, my _ Rippers  _ will never be as unsightly around you, again.”

Margot was looking at him now with that blank face, before turning back down towards her papers.

“Shall we?” Hannibal’s smooth voice suggested, hand still laid across Will’s shoulder. Will nodded, and reached for his helmet, taking a stand. He didn’t excuse himself from anyone’s presence, just lingered as Hannibal’s hand slipped from his shoulder, and he turned towards his executives, “Please, make sure the night goes smoothly.” His gaze was lingering on Bedelia more than anyone else, “You may reach me if you need me.”

With that, he turned, glanced at Will, before gesturing towards the door. Will followed Hannibal, nodding in thanks as Hannibal held the door for Will to get through. The night was crisp, and cool, and it felt good to be out in the air rather than in the bar, any longer. 

“Would you like to follow me, then?” Hannibal suggested, gesturing towards Will’s bike. Will nodded, slowly, not saying anything, “Excellent. It won’t be long. Come.”

Will mounted his bike, starting the engine, and pulled on his helmet, watching as Hannibal pulled up, looked at him, and then slowly started off. Will followed behind, his eyes lingering at the black stag head that stared at him from the back of Hannibal’s leather coat. 

_ See ‘ya later, Vice. _

The words rung in his head.

 

* * *

 

They pulled up to the establishment that they had originally been planning of. Will slowly lowered his feet from his bike, pulling up beside Hannibal’s as he slid into a parking spot. Killing the engine, Will looked up. 

He’d heard of the place before, but had never been inside. It was a kind of Gentlemen’s Club, that much was apparent from the logo on the glass windows. What that entitled, though, Will wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he should be preparing himself for clothless women serving him drinks, or high, upper-class accented men discussing how they got their wealth. Both options made Will nervous. He glanced at Hannibal, who was watching him intently. His amber gaze caught the light coming out through the windows into the cold night, “Have a little faith in me, Will,” his voice was almost a purr, “I wouldn’t dare bring you somewhere you would be uncomfortable.”

The words were slightly reassuring, and Will gripped his helmet as Hannibal strode to the front door, opening it for him slowly. Will nodded, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his helmet as he walked in.

 

The inside of the location resembled a pub, wooden walls, and wooden floors, Irish, for sure. But the inside itself was a calm, warm atmosphere, polished over from the roughness of a normal pub to a quaint, soft place. There was a small bar, but most of the seating was made up of private booths. The idea of being separate from socializing made Will calm, a little bit. He glanced expectantly at Hannibal, unsure of what to do.

Hannibal stood a moment, his eyes trailing over the inside of the area, before lingering on a male employee, who was dressed with black pants and a white shirt, black suspenders matching his black bowtie. It was a charming look, not as formal as the best restaurants, but not informal either. Street formal, perhaps. 

Hannibal leaned over, lightly mumbling to the employee, as Will glanced around further. There were several men at the bar, and several quiet men mumbling in the booths. Cigars hung from some of their mouths. When Will glanced back over, the man was nodding slowly to Hannibal, gesturing towards another room, “Follow me, if you may.”

Will followed slowly behind Hannibal, glancing around the new room as they made their way to a private, corner booth. As the gentleman gestured towards the table politely, Hannibal nodded, sliding back his shoulders to let his coat slide down his arms. His leather pants, custom made, for sure, were wrapped tightly around his hips with a belt. Underneath his coat was a tucked in shirt, dark in color, and as he pulled it off, he adjusted his sleeves, folding his shirt up to his elbows. 

It was the first time Will had seen what was beneath Hannibal’s leather coat. Sliding his own jacket off, and draping it over his own arm, he slid into the opposite side of the booth from Hannibal, glancing down at the table as he adjusted himself. 

“And what may I get you gentlemen, this evening?” questioned the host, who was apparently also their waiter, or would at least relay their order to their actual waiter. Will didn’t know what to expect, exactly. 

“A beer,” Will mumbled, not even looking up from where his eyes were focused on the table. He was out of his element, for sure. 

“Ah, please,” Hannibal glanced at Will, “not the beer.”

Will glanced up as Hannibal relayed some foreign wine off of his tongue, furrowing his eyebrows. When the waiter had nodded in agreement and strode off and out of the room, Hannibal eyed him. A light smile played on his lips, and he simply said, “Let me treat you, tonight.”

Will found himself biting down regret.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize sincerely for the late chapter! Work was getting really stressful, so I found myself sleeping more than anything.   
> Now that this series is really starting to pick up, I want you all to expect chapters on Friday or Saturday. If I get the urge to write and feel a chapter come together in the middle of the week, I'll still post it, so stay in touch! But Friday and Saturday are certainly the best days to look for updates. 
> 
> As always, comment, kudos and subscribe! Message me with any errors, I'll be happy to fix them.
> 
> Poor Will doesn't like taking advantage of Hannibal's kindness. Ain't it sad??


	6. Fʀɪᴇɴᴅs & Fᴀᴛᴇs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iɴ ᴀ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇғᴜʟ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴅʀɪɴᴋs, Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ʟᴇᴛs ʜɪs ᴇxᴀᴄᴛ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ Jᴀᴄᴋ Cʀᴀᴡғᴏʀᴅ ʙᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ.

They sat in silence for a while, Will glancing about the tabletop and the surroundings, Hannibal idly watching him. It was quiet.

_Let me treat you, tonight._

The words rung a few times through Will’s head.

The man before him was treating him to get close to him, as a friend, as a trusted person.

_He doesn’t take to people easily._

As someone he found interesting.

Will could all but feel his heart thrumming against his chest. He was half sure that Hannibal could hear the blood pulsing through his veins.

In a small attempt to calm himself, to remind himself that not every movement he made was being studied, that he wasn’t being analyzed in any way, he lifted his gaze. Surely, Hannibal would be looking somewhere other than him, by now. Will stiffened.

He was not.

Blue eyes held amber, or, maybe it was the other way around. Will found himself focused on deep whiskey pools, and he only had time to blink once, twice, before a sound interrupted him.

“Ah, gentlemen.” It was the waiter, “Here you are, sirs.”

A bucket of ice was placed at the edge of their table, a gorgeous bottle of crimson wine settling in the frozen water. Condensation played at the surface of the glass, building forts of water before gravity pulled them downwards. Hannibal lifted his gaze, and flashed a charming smile, “Ah, thank you,” he nodded as their glasses were set out. The waiter reached for the bottle, presumably to open it and pour them each a glass, but Hannibal reached his hand out, shaking his head, “No need, sir, but thank you.”

The waiter glanced down at Hannibal, before shifting his gaze to Will, who was just blinking at the bottle of shimmering liquid in the bucket. He stepped away from the table, nodding, before turning his back, his towel draped over his forearm, and walking away.

Will glanced back up at Hannibal, who was now reaching for the bottle himself. He pulled it out by the neck, allowing the excess water on the bottle to drip back into the bucket, before slowly pulling it towards him.

“What were you doing in _The Forensics’_ territory, the night that Miriam Lass died?” The question popped from Will’s mouth as Hannibal popped open the bottle, his thumb still resting on the cork.

Hannibal’s eyes flashed up at Will, before returning to the bottle, “What, do you have doubts about me, Will?”

Will stayed quiet, staring at the last bits of condensation that dripped down the bottle, pooling against Hannibal’s fingers. He didn’t want to lie to him, but he honestly wasn’t sure if he was or wasn’t sitting at the table that Miriam’s killer was, about to tip back wine with him. The thought left Will’s heart a bit sputtery, concerned for himself, but also concerned for Hannibal. The time that they had spent together had been easy, and not strained, and Will didn’t want to think that he’d have such an easy time communicating with a killer. Silence pressed in on them.

Hannibal reached for Will’s glass, a low smile playing across his lips. It didn’t go unnoticed, “What were _you_ doing in _The Forensics’_ territory the night that Miriam Lass died?”

The question was shot back at him. Hannibal’s words were calm, but there was a way that he spoke, a way he delivered the same question, that gave Will the wandering thought that Hannibal may think the same of Will as Will thought of Hannibal.

“I was having drinks with Jack Crawford that night. She was already dead when we met up.”

The wine tumbled into Will’s glass, crashing over itself as the liquid level raised, filling the cup. Hannibal tilted the bottle back slowly, letting it linger at an angle as to let the last drop of liquid drip down into Will’s glass. Again, silence.

“I was out for a ride, to scope out possible runs for myself and my _Rippers_.”

Will reached for the glass as Hannibal pulled back, his fingers closing around the stem as he dragged it back towards himself. He raised an eyebrow, “What would _The Rippers_ be doing on a run in _Forensics_ territory?”

“Ah, barely even _Forensics’_ territory. It used to be _Rippers’_ land.” Hannibal was pouring for himself now, his eyes lidded, his gaze dull. There seemed to be a sore spot about the topic.

Will’s attention was now being held. When Hannibal didn’t elaborate, Will glanced down at his glass, and the wine that was still swirling in his cup, “Explain,” he prompted.

“When Jack Crawford was made _President_ of _The Forensics_ , he expanded their territory. The new boundary cut into a small bit of our land, but it was won over by the amount of recruits they had on that side of the border.”

Will’s gaze slid back up. He was staring hard at Hannibal, “How small is small?”

Hannibal was sitting the wine back into the ice, gingerly picking up his glass by the stem. He brought it to his nose, swirling the liquid as he took a low smell of it. His eyes were cast between Will’s throat and his face, staring in a rather blank manner. He blinked as he set down his glass again, fingers resting at the base, “Enough to change our recruitment habits. A portion of current _Forensics_ members, however small the portion is, should be under the _Ripper_ name.” Hannibal paused, sitting back in his booth seat, just the slightest, “This being said, it wasn’t worth starting a territory war over. But,” Hannibal paused again, taking a small, swift sip of his glass. The liquid was held for a moment in his mouth before he swallowed, and his gaze finally slipped up to Will’s, “I highly doubt that Jack Crawford cared who it belonged to, in the first place.”

Rage seethed through Will’s veins. Even as a _Lone Wolf_ , a biker with no alignment, the thought of one club moving upon another club’s territory for a few extra members spiked rage within him. Boundaries were well-set by years of muscling by former _Presidents_ and members alike. It took a bigger man, _a man like Hannibal_ , to step back and let Jack have his way with the land.

Hannibal was also the first _President_ of _The Rippers_. That was land that he gained through hard work and recruitment. The thought made Will blink hard at the other man.

It was Hannibal who removed his stare first, this time, “I see that look, Will. I assure you, it was no problem, if it was I would have made a statement about it, officially. So, instead of taking back the land, I’m just organizing a small Run. After all, it’d be peaceful, and maybe we could gain back a few _Rippers_ that we may have lost in Jack’s territory change.”

Will lifted his glass, taking a slow sip of his drink, attempting to mirror Hannibal. There was a specific way to drink wine that he wasn’t familiar with, but Hannibal’s lithe fingers seemed skilled in the art of making the most of his beverage, with his lingering lips and slow-to-swallow jaw.

They sat in silence and drank, for a while.

 

The rest of the night consisted of mostly small-talk, and Will glancing between customers and employees alike. Despite the light conversation, Will wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. Hannibal’s comments and questions weren’t prying, weren’t degrading, and were polite. It made for a peaceful atmosphere, and the high alcohol content of the fine wine made for Will’s lips to be looser. After a few more glasses, Will pushed back his empty cup, “That’s enough. I still have to drive home.” The effects of the drinks made Will’s head tingle, and he winced at the all-too-familiar feeling of slipping below the weight of alcohol.

Hannibal shot him a look that was borderline apologetic, “Ah, you haven’t had too much, have you?” They’d spent enough time in the Gentleman’s Club to consider departing for the night, “Are you okay to drive home?”

Will let his fingers tap lightly on the table, considering. He glanced around the room with purpose, trying to gage how fuzzy and unclear he was in the head. When his actions didn’t meet him with much lag, and his head didn’t feel too awful heavy, Will nodded, “I should be fine, I’m closer to home tonight than I was the night I went to your bar,” referring to the calming atmosphere where the _Rippers_ met as Hannibal’s Bar made Will glance up. He was directly referring to Hannibal as a territorial owner.

“Are you sure?” Hannibal questioned lightly, his accent smoothing over the words and making them all the more calming, “You’re always free for a spot in my home for the night, if you’re not.”

Will chuckled, stopping his light taps on the table, “Inviting strange men to stay the night at your house, are you?” he mirrored his words, the words he spoke the night that they met. It was more of a joke to himself than a serious question; Will Graham was a man of light snark, and he took the opportunity to use it when he could.

“On the contrary, he’s not so strange,” Hannibal chimed, “Although I would rethink the offer if all of his dogs came with him.” It was Hannibal’s turn to joke. Will felt himself give a genuine laugh. Hannibal’s knowledge of his life had come from their easy-going conversation.

They’d sit for a while, letting the alcohol settle, and enjoy the amber lighting and the silence of the night.

 

* * *

 

Heading out of the club, the two men stood by their bikes, taking in the fresh smell of winter. Their jackets lay firmly over their shoulders now, and Hannibal took the time to zip his up, curling his fingers around the collar to lift it up. The temperature had fallen, leaving frost to play at the edges of windows, and dust the grass just enough to mute its color.

Will fiddled with his keys as they made departing small-talk.

“This was nice,” Will mumbled, surprised to find that he was being genuine. The _President_ opposite him never stepped out of line in his presence, and seemed to be always aware of just how precious personal space was.

“I firmly agree,” Hannibal almost purred out, helmet in one hand, keys in the other, “But, Will,” Hannibal’s tone grew more serious as Will mounted his bike, simply sitting on it rather than making an urgent move to flee and leave, as he normally would, “Why don’t you send me a message when you get home?” When silence pressed in on them, Hannibal added, “You’re not completely sober, you know. It would ease my mind.”

Will nodded, staring down at his helmet as he moved to slide it on over his head. Once firmly secured, he pressed his key into his bike. Hannibal was moving to mount his own.

They slid through the parking lot together, and, once reaching the road, where they would be parting ways, Will glanced over at Hannibal.

The direction of Hannibal’s helmet told Will he was looking more or less at him than at the direction of oncoming traffic. His right hand was off his handle, forefinger and middle finger pointed. The classic, respectable wave of equity. As Will pulled off to the right, he lowered his own left hand, offering the same gesture. He held his hand low, and kept the sign in sight for Hannibal to see in his rearview. Will only pulled his hand back onto his handle when Hannibal was far out of sight.

The roads were dead, and the air was cool. In the silence of the night, with nothing but the thrum of his engine and the hiss of the air through his helmet, Will felt glad to be a Lone Wolf. The ride home was without incident, calm, relaxing, even, and when Will pulled up in his driveway, he was hesitant to kill his engine.

 

Stepping inside, he was greeted with jumping, yipping mutts, happy to see him. He left the door open, inviting them to take a late run outside before being locked in all night. As Will removed his helmet, he reached for his phone. A text scrolled across his screen.

 

 **HL :** You made it home safe, yes?

 

 **WG :** Yeah, I made it home. Thanks.

 

 **HL :** Good. I would hate to get you drunk enough to ruin that gorgeous bike.

 

Will smirked. At least he knew Hannibal thought his bike was stunning. He sat there with his phone in his hands for a moment, until another text rang through.

 

 **HL :** Well, since the night went so well, and you returned home unscathed, I suppose this means I have the right to call you my friend?

 

 **WG :** What brought that on?

 

 **HL :** I didn’t want to use the term without permission, in case it caused offense. You seem very keen on your personal space, Will.

 

 **WG :** You’re not wrong, but don’t worry about it. Yes, we’re friends.

 

 **HL :** I admit, that’s a better response than I hoped to receive. Goodnight, Will.

 

 **WG :** Goodnight, Hannibal.

 

Will locked his phone, letting the dogs back in. They padded around him, licking his hands, tails high and happy with wagging. Within ten minutes, though, they were slumped in various areas of the room, in piles, or by themselves. Will laid back on his bed, closing his eyes.

Though the night had gone so well, a few thoughts rung in his mind.

Thoughts he’d have to speak with Jack Crawford about as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting for a week! I slept all of Saturday (18 hours, my goodness) so everything was set behind a day. Once the work week started back up again, I was hesitant to resist sleep in order to post.
> 
> Here! Let me make it up to you! Have some Motorrad Extra Content! While this wasn't specifically made for Motorrad (Obviously) you can get a taste of how these large gangs act on the road together. This link, along with others, will be available again in our final chapter, the chapter after our epilogue / closing chapter, along with extra bonus content. Some of the scenes in these compilations will be used as references for future Motorrad chapters.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkK-m56UZaM
> 
> As always, comment, kudos, and follow. Follow me on tumblr at HijackTheJackal in order to receive updates, and enjoy more Hannigram related work! Message me here with any spelling errors, I'd be happy to fix them.
> 
> \-- EDIT --  
> I realized I forgot to title this chapter. I love my chapter titling style for some reason, but it was really hard to see how I should title this one. I went with the first thing that came to mind.
> 
> \-- INFO --  
> At the end of the chapter, you may be confused as to why Hannibal is giving Will the Biker Wave as he's pulling out of the Gentleman's Club, and why Will reciprocates it for so long.  
> That wave is generally done with the left hand, but obviously Hannibal couldn't do it with his left hand from where he was.  
> Lifting your hand off of your bar, and pointing your index and middle finger downwards (Basically a sideways peace, as I've seen it described) means that you highly enjoy / respect / agree with the Biker-in-Question's style.  
> What Hannibal was portraying here was that he viewed Will as an equal. And Will reciprocating the gesture means he thinks the same of Hannibal.  
> These two both have high opinions of the other's biker status. Awe, Biker Husbands~.


	7. Dᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ & Dʀᴇᴀᴍs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʟᴇᴛs ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴀᴛ Jᴀᴄᴋ. Wʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ɢᴇᴛs ʜᴏᴍᴇ, ʜɪs sᴜʙᴄᴏɴsᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴘʟᴀʏs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ, ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ. Wʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴍᴇᴀɴ?

Will’s fist was clenched around the tinted glass of his beer bottle. His eyes were hard, his body was rigid, and he stared forward as he took a rough swig of the auburn liquid. Resting his bottle back, he glanced around the bar. It was nearly empty. The flickering lights, which were usually low enough to calm his mood, offered no comfort. The beer was cold, and the night was the same. Driving to the bar, Will didn’t see any other bikes. His best guess would be that he would be alone, tonight. He hoped that was the case, but a nagging voice in the back of his skull rung out that  _ The Forensics _ would be around at almost any time. 

 

When the sun was gone, and the moon was starting to rise, they arrived. He heard the bikes first, the low rumbling that shook the walls in the slightest. The patrons of the bar didn’t even look up. He could hear their laughter next, there were several of them tonight. As the purring of engines started to fade, signaling that the bikers were parking and killing their motors, Will couldn’t ignore the twitching throb in his pulse, irritation seeping through him. He just didn’t feel right, now. 

Will kept his eyes firmly on the counter as the sound of the door opening and closing rung out to him. It was passed from member to member, as the group of them streamed into the bar, taking seats at booths and tables. A few of them opted for the bar, calling hellos to the tenders, lighthearted smirks greeting them back. 

It was only a matter of time before Jack’s deep voice rang out from somewhere behind him, “You’ve done good, Beverly. Thank you.” Jack’s praise to her was kind, and Will could hear Beverly give a light, dismissive noise. For a woman with the position of  _ Vice _ , she never took her status too seriously. 

It was only a matter of moments before Jack sunk to the bar beside Will, motioning for a beer. Beverly went off further into the establishment, her conversations light with her underling members. Some of them were patting her on the back, urging her to join them in a few drinks.  _ The Forensics _ had been so calm and orderly, as of late. 

It was far different than what Will felt right now.

Jack slid money across the bar as his drink arrived. 

The two sat in silence. Will’s eyes still didn’t move from the bar as he sipped from his drink. 

“Alright, Will. What’s wrong?” Jack’s voice was low, and he didn’t bother turning his head over to the younger man. Jack tilted back his own drink. His hands were still clad in his gloves, skin chilled from the winter wind, and his leather coat wrapped tightly around him, proudly displaying his patch. Will was dressed in a similar manner. 

All Will could manage was a snort. It felt childish to roll his eyes, but he almost found himself doing it. Instead, he took a long drink from his bottle, and let his eyes slide shut. Even after the bottle had been put down, he kept his gaze closed. 

“Will,” Jack started again, “Would you mind telling me what happened? I need to know if there’s a problem,” he paused, “There’s not a problem, is there?” There was an audible warning in his tone.

Silence, again. Muffled laughter from _ Forensics  _ was the only thing keeping any noise between them. The air vibrated in unspoken tension. 

“Why’d you do it?” Will finally shot a glance over, which was quickly removed with fast blinking, moving his gaze back down to the bar again. 

“Why did I do what?” Jack questioned. Compared to Will’s gravely, weak voice, Jack sounded strong, “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, Will.”

“Why would you run in on  _ Ripper _ turf?” Will didn’t move his gaze. He knew that the exact question would sting.

Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, staring at his  _ Forensics _ , and Beverly, who were currently tilting back various drinks of their own and having a good laugh. A man had his hand thoroughly clutched on Beverly’s shoulder, Beverly’s smug smile all in good fun as she looked around the circle of her close companions.

When Jack turned back, his eyes were a lot more stoney, “Didn’t know you knew about that.”

Will huffed, “I didn’t. Not until Hannibal told me.”

“Listen, Will, at the time--”

“No, Jack. You listen,” Will’s voice was incredibly soft for a man in rage, his jaw was clenched, his beer was practically shaking, “You don’t do that. You never do that. Hannibal worked for that turf, hell, he didn’t even fight back for it.”

“Well, he must have not wanted it that badly.”

Jack’s words nearly stung. 

Will felt his eye twitch, as he roughly stood, “I’m not a  _ Ripper _ . I’m not a  _ Forensic _ . But fuck, Jack, I’m not a moron.” He quickly zipped up his jacket, before grabbing his helmet in one hand, and his beer in the other, “If Hannibal hadn’t been so damn nice about it, you could have gotten your riders in a real big shit storm. I hope you know that.”

Jack’s silence wasn’t stunned. It was more or less resigned. For a man that was never spoken to in harsh manner, was used to being obeyed, Will’s rough words had a little less effect than they should have.

But Will wasn’t one of Jack’s riders. And he wouldn’t submit like one, either. 

Before Jack could respond, Will had strode away from the bar. In a few moments he was pushing roughly out of the door. He didn’t look back. 

 

Sitting on his bike, Will didn’t know if he wanted to go home. The night was young, the roads were open, and the beers were chilled. If his stop at this bar was done for the night, he’d go somewhere else. Crossing his arms across his handlebars, he lazily tipped his beer back again. The cool night air was soothing against the pulsing heat of his skin. 

The moon and the clouds were his only company, for a few minutes. Will took to tilting back his bottle, closing his eyes, and taking in the scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and frost. It smelled surprisingly clean. Surprisingly like home. The only sounds were the wind, the occasional passing car, and the muffled bar music. Other than that, the slosh of beer in his nearing-empty bottle, and the click of his keys against the metal of his bike could be heard, but the noises were entirely Will’s. 

The calm was broken by the sound of the door pushing open again. Will lifted his head weakly, blinking tiredly in the direction of the sound. Beverly was pushing out of the bar, her coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, protecting her from the winter bite of cold. 

“Hey,” she offered as she reached his bike, her arms crossed against the cold.

“Hey,” Will mumbled back, looking at his bottle instead of her.

They stood together, Beverly looking up at the moon, Will glancing between his bottle and the sky, eyes occasionally skimming the horizon. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Beverly finally asked, her gaze unstraying from where she was studying the sky. 

Will snorted into his beer, finishing it off with a high swig, “Couldn’t you tell?”

It was Beverly’s turn to scoff, “The only thing I could really ‘tell’ was that Jack had you pissed. No one ever really talks to him like that.”

“That so? Gee, thought he’d be a lot more used to getting verbally shit on.” Will’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. 

The look that Beverly gave him was an understanding warning, “I know you’re mad, Will,” _ but don’t make me go inside. _ The last words were unsaid, but hung in the air.

Will stared down, before giving a long sigh, “It’s what Jack did to some of the  _ Ripper _ turf.”

“What, took that portion of it?” Beverly offered. She seemed so casual, and that sparked Will’s fire, again.

“Yes! That’s wrong, Beverly!” Will ran a hand down his face. He felt so tired, “Hannibal Lecter worked for that boundary. And now the _ Rippers _ have lost some potential members to the  _ Forensics _ , just because of where the new boundary is. It was members you didn’t need,” Will felt like he sounded a lot more desperate than he felt. At the end of the day, he was still a  _ Lone Wolf _ , and just because Hannibal Lecter was his friend, didn’t mean that he had to defend his turf tooth and nail. But something about the entire situation felt wrong, and it ate at him. He felt like there was something more under the surface, something he should know, or feel, but couldn’t. At least, not right now. 

“Hannibal didn’t need the members either, the _ Rippers _ are loaded with good members,” Beverly sounded realistic, and anchored. She sounded a lot calmer than Will felt. 

“I just,” Will paused, “I just keep putting myself in his situation. I look at him, and I see that  _ President _ patch, and I can’t help but feel waves of unease at Jack’s name. Not unease for Jack, but what he did. If it bothers me this much, I can’t think of how it bothers Hannibal.”

“That’s awfully empathetic,” Beverly chuckled, leaning against Will’s bike. 

Will gave an uncomfortable chuckle, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

They stood together, and Will tried to still the twitching of his legs. Even though Beverly was a nice, comfortable person to be around, he wasn’t exactly asking for the social contact at the moment. 

“Jack was hoping you’d join, since you’ve been such a big help with trying to find who killed Miriam.” Beverly’s voice was soft, and offering. 

Will scoffed lightly, “Even if I had been thinking about it, after all of this,” he stopped himself short. _ I don’t know if I’d want to, anymore _ laid unsaid, but the both of them felt it.

Beverly took a deep breath, her exhale coming out in a sweet, wintery cloud. 

“You know, you may feel pressured, but at the end of the day, I don’t care who you go to. A rider’s gotta choose his stripes,” she paused, “That’s kinda what this whole life is about, isn’t it?” 

Will stayed quiet, for a moment. “Yeah, it kinda is,” was barely heard coming from his lips. The words held a twinge of sorrow. 

 

* * *

 

Will went home. He didn’t go to another bar, didn’t go seeking trouble and didn’t go riding while buzzed. He just went home. 

As soon as the dogs were taken care of, and his helmet hung up, Will collapsed into bed. He fiddled with his gloves, while laying on his back, too lazy to do much more than loosen them, before pulling them off to throw them onto his bedside table. He’d put them in his helmet in the morning. Staring up at the ceiling in the dark, Will fell asleep on top of his covers,  _ Lone Wolf _ jacket clutching his shoulder blades like a comfortable, familiar embrace. 

 

_ A sticky, hot sensation came over his body _ . When Will opened his eyes, he didn’t see much of anything. The area around was tinted blue-black, like the night with a thick cover of fog, and lights in the distance. 

_ The sound of bikes, guns, blades _ . Will was faintly aware of the feeling of engines around him, faintly aware of the familiar rumble of bikes as they raced around him, even though he couldn’t see them. 

_ The yelling of men and women _ . It was, like the engines, muffled and muted, but it, too surrounded him on all sides. 

He lifted his hands, and stared at the fresh coating of crimson blood, dripping between his fingers and running down the dips of his skin. 

“Darling,” came the faint voice, as hands slid down his ribs, moving down, clutching his hips. Will instinctively leaned back into the warm touch. It was nice. 

The hands slid around to the front of his torso, and Will felt lips graze the side of his neck. He tilted his head to the side, allowing a better access, as his eyes slid shut. Soft kisses breathed life over his pulse, the hands sliding beneath his shirt, one moving upwards as the other hot palm caressed over his lower abdomen. The kisses against his neck grew more passionate, soft mumbles of unrecognizable words could be felt on his tender flesh. A low groan escaped his lips, his heart picked up its pace as the kisses turned into soft nips. Another low moan was heard, but it came from the man (Was it a man? Yes, the strong hands, the sharp jaw, the feeling of the slim hips behind his. This was a man.) behind him. Will thought he could hear  _ I Love You’s _ being pressed against his skin, the hands at his hot stomach growing frantic, wanting to be closer. 

They were laid bare for each other, like this. Covered in blood, whispering sweet nothings, physically and mentally connected by a string of passion.

“God, fuck,” Will groaned out, tilting his head back onto the strong shoulder the rested behind him while the assault on his neck didn’t stop, “Fuck, I love you, too.” 

It was so frightening to know that, in this dream, in this state of reality, the throbbing of his heart was indeed the passionate throb of love. 

The sudden bite on his neck only served to make him arch his back, as his eyes slid closed into euphoria. 

 

Will’s head snapped up, with a gasp. His arms were clutched around himself, his jacket warm, hot, even, with his raised body temperature. He must have been seriously moving in his sleep. 

After a dream like that, though, he wasn’t surprised. It was a sensual change to the dreams he usually had, of death and disease, and that lingered in the form of blood that covered his body in the dream world. 

But, overall, it wasn’t a dream to complain about.  

Glancing sideways, Will eyed the clock, seeing that it was nearing four in the morning. 

His head fell back onto his pillows, chest lightly heaving. After spending so much time alone, that kind of dream, with a deep passion, physical connection, and pleasure, was incredibly refreshing and unsettling at the same time. It had been the same dream he had had before, the night that Miriam was killed. 

Groaning, Will reached over to his phone, checking it for messages. All was quiet, his inbox was empty. Will’s finger hovered above his and Hannibal’s text conversation. 

It was only a moment later that Will put the phone back on his bedside table. Hannibal was not a man to bother with his dreams. Besides that, Will wasn’t sure if he was the type of man that would enjoy hearing about homosexual dream sequences at four in the morning. 

Instead, Will slid his jacket off his body, curled up beneath the covers, and attempted, once more, to sleep in peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, really wanted to write this chapter for some reason. So here, have a fast update~! This is really starting to get good.
> 
> Who likes Gay!Dream!Will? Poor boy is just like, "What the fuck is happening, why is this hot, what the fuck?"  
> I'm really starting to roll with this series, so expect more updates soon.
> 
> As always, comment, kudos and follow. Message me if you see any errors, I'd be glad to fix them~!  
> As always, my tumblr (HijackTheJackal) is always open for messages, fanart, and questions. 
> 
> \-- NOTE --  
> At the END of this series I'll be needing some Fanart! Our final update, the chapter after the last chapter, will be bonus content! This being said, I'm putting together some Playlists for you adorable Biker Babes out there, and could really use some Motorrad!Murder Husbands for cover art and display pictures~! Just thought I'd tell you all now, so that we don't get to the last chapter and you have to rush through it.  
> Have a great day, dears~!


	8. Rɪᴅᴇs & Rᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tʜɪɴɢs ɢᴏ sɪʟᴇɴᴛ, ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ. Bᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ Eʟ Nɪɴᴏ ʜᴀᴜʟᴛs Wɪɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ Wɪʟʟ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀɪᴅᴇ, ʜᴇ's ᴍᴇᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ's ᴄʀᴇᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢ.

The next few days themselves were rather uneventful. Will found himself falling into an easy routine; He would wake up, and take care of his dogs, and then spend the afternoons reading and working on his lures. When night fell, he’d light a fire, curl up with the dogs, and spend some time alone for the rest of the night. His bike sat parked in his driveway, unused, for several days, and Will didn’t urge himself to go visit any of the local bars, in case he saw Jack, or another  _ Forensics _ member. The only _ Forensic _ he figured he could really stomach at the moment was Beverly, anyways, and with the number of  _ Forensics  _ on the streets, it was a slim to none chance that the first one he came across would be her. 

After the quiet, though, the weather started to change. Winter seemed to hold its breath, take a step back, and let the sun and the shine fill the cloudy void which had been the Northeast winter. The temperatures warmed, and, even though forecasts said that the beautiful days were only temporary, they were reason enough to get Will itching to take his bike out. As soon as he noticed the warm winds, one morning while taking the dogs out, he glanced longingly at his bike. 

It would be a temptation he would resist for several more days.

On the third or so day of lounging around and enjoying El Nino for what it was worth, Will was sick of being confined to his property. While he was longing for the road, he wasn’t exactly longing for company; Wanting different scenery and wanting interaction were two very separate things, and if Will was going to go out, he wouldn’t be visiting  _ The Forensics’ _ bar. 

Finally unable to resist the call of the warming pavement, Will mounted his bike, in the early afternoon, one day. 

He’d spend a good few hours trailing the near-empty roads around his house, and smelling the softening earth. 

 

* * *

 

Will pulled into the gas station one evening, hands tight on his handlebars as he made the swift turns around the pumps. Pulling into the farthest one, he dismounted, flicking his kickstand into place. 

El Nino was still in full effect, and day after day Will noticed cars, clean with the opportunity to go wash them, and children in the front yards, fields, and sidewalks. It seemed that nearly everyone was entranced by the idea of an early spring. 

Slipping his helmet onto onto his handlebar, Will pulled out his wallet, moving lazily to get gas and fill his bike’s tank before heading home for the evening. He’d spent more money the last few days than he thought he would, on gas, maybe even more than he would in the summer.

The spring and fall were the best times to go riding, when the weather was dull, not too cold to be uncomfortable with the wind, and not too hot to burn inside of leather jackets or feel scorched by your seat.

Just as Will sheathed the pump, he heard the familiar low rumbling of bikes, a multitude of them by the sound of it. Will raised his gaze, lifting an eyebrow.

A long string of bikes were pulling in, turning into pumps, or parking spots, or off to the side. Cars obediently halted and yielded for them, as they swarmed around, coming in two to three at a time. 

Will stared hard, eyeing the bikers. It could have very well been  _ The Forensics _ , on a run, pulling in to gas up. One of the bikes turned past him, aiming for a parking spot in front of the gas station, and Will turned around to see the back of their jacket.

That familiar  _ Chesapeake Ripper _ patch was displayed proudly on shining leather. The rider slid into place, two more coming to park behind him in the same spot, and the three _ Rippers _ removed their helmets, chatting lightly, before walking inside. 

Will turned back around, the slow, steady stream of  _ Rippers _ still coming. 

If the  _ Rippers _ were here, where was Hannibal? Will thought back to their conversations, thoroughly recalling his idea of going on a run. Given the good weather, and the amount of  _ Rippers _ entering the gas station, Will’s best guess was that this was the intended run. Although it was a brilliant idea to use the warm weather to his advantage, when unclaimed bikers would be riding about. 

As the stream of  _ Rippers _ trickled, and slowed, Will’s gaze rested on a familiar black bike. 

The streamline design, decorated with the slick white stripe up the front was parked away from the pumps, along the edge of the lot. Hannibal was seated, fiddling with his helmet and bike, feet on the ground, the vibrating of his bike still visible. He probably pulled in closer towards the end, making sure that they didn’t have any straggling members that didn’t see them turn in, but with that many bikes, Will wasn’t sure how anyone could get lost. 

Hannibal made a motion with his wrist, on his bike’s dash, ceasing the vibrating motion. Slowly, Will mounted his bike, turning away from the pump to turn his vehicle around, and slide over closer to Hannibal. 

The black helmet raised, catching the sun in its reflection, before lithe hands reached up to slowly remove the firm embrace of the protection, Hannibal let his eyes close as he did this, opening them again as he tucked his helmet beneath his arm. 

Will’s bike came to a stop next to Hannibal’s, and immediately Will heard a lighthearted chuckle from him.

“I thought I’d never hear from you, again.”

The comment was slick, but meant in good fun. Hannibal’s tone was teasing, and Will found himself smirking as he looked over at the older man, “Been kinda busy, sorry about that,” It wasn’t exactly a lie, he had spent his days making lures and taking care of his dogs. The last time he had thought about contacting Hannibal was the night of his last nightmare. 

Will felt his face fall as he thought about the dream, for a moment. Those hands sliding against his body, and the lovebites at his neck. 

When Will blinked next, he felt the unmistakable heat of a flush over his cheeks. The dream was closer to his memory than he thought it was. Will crossed his hands over his handlebars, looking at Hannibal’s _ Rippers  _ instead of Hannibal himself, to hide his face in the slightest. 

If Hannibal noticed, he didn’t say anything.

With his eyes on the other _ Rippers _ , Will noticed a few of them staring back. The three that he had looked at earlier, to identify them, were back on their bikes, idly chatting, and stealing an occasional glance. 

Will was the crow among ravens; alike, but different.

The familiar feminine shapes of Bedelia, Chiyoh and Margot were sliding around the station. Margot had already pulled in to gas up, while Chiyoh and Bedelia pulled off to the side of the tank. 

When Will spotted them, Bedelia’s head raised, she was running a hand through her long, yellow curls to liven them back up. Their gazes held, and, when Will felt and saw no aggression there, he saw quiet, instead. An uncomfortable quiet, but quiet nonetheless. 

Although, Will’s eyes soon settled on something much different.

A smaller shape by the two women. A smaller rider, with a small form, and even a lower bike. Will watched on as the small shape reached up, and removed their helmet. 

It was a girl. Young, no more than 18, 19 at the very latest. She was the age that was fresh-out-of-highschool young, or first-semester-of-college. Or, she could have been in between still waiting for an acceptance letter, resting for the fall semester. 

She had brown hair, a thick, chocolate coffee color, and blue eyes. A scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck, above her jacket, which form-fitted her body around the shoulders rather well. She was petite, it must have been hard to find a jacket that fit properly. 

Like final touches to a painting, freckles danced across her skin, just dark enough to be visible. 

Will couldn’t get over the fact that she was  _ too young _ .

Will nodded at the girl, to get Hannibal’s attention; he had been watching the crowd of his riders just as Will had, “Who is she?” his voice was cautious. 

Hannibal’s head turned, his calculating stare looking at the girl behind Bedelia and Chiyoh. Around the station, bikers were sliding around and out of the way, so that others could gas up, “That is Abigail Hobbs. She joined us not too long ago,” Hannibal paused, as if contemplating something, “She’s only a  _ Butcher _ , of course, but she proved her loyalty rather quickly.” Will recognized the term  _ Butcher _ ; it was the title given to new members of  _ The Chesapeake Rippers _ , ones that weren’t on trial, but weren’t exactly known, and hadn’t staked out permanent claim in the club. 

“How does she get into your meetings?” Will asked softly, raising an eyebrow.  _ The Rippers _ usually were at the bar, which, obviously, was a 21 and older event. 

“Ah,” Hannibal’s voice was light, “She comes as my underling. I’m the one that gets her in. We have a running joke that she is my daughter,” the humor on Hannibal’s tongue was sweet, and light, and there was a smile in his eyes as he spoke of the young girl. 

Suddenly, though, his face fell.

“Between you and I, Will, I don’t believe she has anywhere to go.”

Will tore his gaze away from the young girl, staring at Hannibal hard. Hannibal’s amber gaze met his, and a look of understanding passed between them, “She works a retail job to make her ends meet, and pay for gas, but she never speaks of home. I’m afraid her bike could be her escape from a potentially dangerous situation.”

Will grimaced, his stomach holding a twisted knot of worry. It was almost sickening. Will, having come from a broken family himself, knew the intense emotional agony of her potential standing. He never knew his mother, and worked with his Father until he could leave, but they were bittersweet years, ones that left him strayed from other people, and all too closed off. 

Abigail Hobbs didn’t deserve that, not when she had so much to see, and live for. 

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice called to him, and when Will lifted his gaze he saw a small smile on Hannibal’s lips. He looked please, and, perhaps, a little hopeful, “Would you like to join us? You can pull off when you want, but it’d be nice to have you along for the ride, so to speak.”

Will almost bit his lip, unsure of what to do. While he, indeed, wanted to turn out of the station with Hannibal, and get a look at his riders’ dynamics, he was unsure if it was a smart situation.

Will Graham was no  _ Ripper _ . 

When Will lowered his gaze, he was thinking. Hannibal was quiet, but Will could feel his eyes on him. 

The weather was nice, the company just as so. Will was surprised to realize that the idea of Hannibal’s company for the evening wasn’t worrying. They were friends, after all. Will blinked, and raised his gaze again. Hannibal was smiling down at him, the lowering sun setting his blond-grey hair ablaze like white-hot firelight. 

Will found himself smirking, fiddling with his helmet to pull it off of his handlebars, and hold it firmly in his arm. Around them, other riders were gearing up again, putting on helmets, rallying around Bedelia, who was organizing them. She was their  _ Road Captain _ , after all. 

Will pulled on his helmet, turned his head towards Hannibal, and revved his engine. 

Hannibal’s smile bloomed fully, as he took in Will’s indirect  _ ‘yes’ _ .

 

* * *

 

They spent the hours in the setting sun around the roads and highways of Quantico. There were no other riders to be seen. Will imagined that most of them were at the bar, taking in an evening beer, getting the night started. 

Either way, the silence and lack of  _ Forensics _ members was relaxing; however peaceful Hannibal may have been, there would always be one member in the other gang that would take the sighting as hostile. 

The formation of the ride was a bit offset from a usual ride. Normally, the  _ President _ , Hannibal, and the _ Road Captain _ , Bedelia, would start the line, side by side. From there, the patch-wearing full members would be, with the  _ Sergeant at Arms _ tucked in the middle somewhere. At the end would be the prospects, and honorary members. Bedelia was both their  _ Sergeant at Arms _ , and their  _ Road Captain _ .

When the formation had started to form, that evening, in the gas station, Hannibal had turned to give light orders, and tucked Will behind himself and Bedelia, next to Chiyoh. 

Will couldn’t ignore some of the head-shakes and mumbles by the other members. If Hannibal had noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

When they pulled out, Hannibal raised two fingers into the air, high above his head. It was the signal for the double-file line, and anyone who wasn’t in formation before fell into place as they moved down the road.

They kept that formation as they rode, Will’s gaze seated up ahead, at oncoming traffic, to see if there were any  _ Forensics _ members passing. Hannibal’s broad shoulders and patched jacket often got in his way, though, and Will found his gaze seated on Hannibal’s  _ Ripper _ patch, blinking lazily at the tight leather stretched across his body. He would be shifted from his thoughts at red lights, when Hannibal would glanced behind, and Will could feel his smile even with both of their helmets on. Will would offer a lazy thumbs up, before the light turned green. 

 

It would be after the sun started to completely fade, and purple started to touch the sky and start to take it over, that Hannibal looked at Bedelia while at a red light. Lifting his visor, Hannibal and Bedelia spoke lightly, and Will saw them nodding, agreeing on something. 

At the next bar, Hannibal reached out with his hand a good few meters before the turnoff. He pointed with his finger, multiple times, drawing a line between the group and the bar, and Will glanced back to make sure that the rest of the immediate riders behind them got the message. Hannibal was signalling for them to turn off into the bar. 

 

Will slowed to a stop, his bike next to Hannibal’s, in a separate parking space. Hannibal glanced backwards, watching as the double file line streamed in, and Will stretched his legs before he got off of his bike, helmet already tucked beneath his arm, watching with him. 

When the last of them started to pull in, Hannibal nodded, satisfied. While the group was parking, Hannibal and Will made their way to the bar entrance.

They went in together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I wouldn't update this week, huh?~ Well, think again! I started this on Saturday night, I really loved the idea of Will being so uncomfortable by the thought of riding with the Rippers, but being almost unable to say no to Hannibal's little grin. Adorable~.
> 
> As always, comment, kudos, and subscribe! Message me for any errors, I'd be happy to fix them.
> 
> My Tumblr's been blowing up, lately! I posted a few Hannigram fic/ficlet things, and apparently I did a good job. Your praise, here, on tumblr, or otherwise, makes my heart melt, dears.  
> As always, my Tumblr is HijackTheJackal!
> 
> \-- BONUS? --  
> The song "Forest Fires" by Lauren Aquilina? I may work it into one of our Playlists, but it's got a more canon vibe to it, to be honest. If it doesn't end up in our playlists, I may have to make a Hannigram video. Who knows, though, we have a long way to go, and I have plans in mind~
> 
> ENJOY~!


	9. Fɪɢʜᴛs & Fᴜᴍᴇs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ᴍɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ʙᴀʀ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ Rɪᴘᴘᴇʀs, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴇᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴜɴᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ. Tʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢs ᴍɪxᴇᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs.

Will and Hannibal pushed through the doors, into the warm embrace of the bar. 

It was a new one, one that Will hadn’t been in, and, as he glanced over at Hannibal, he realised that Hannibal hadn’t been to it before, either, with the way he was taking in the space around them. The bar itself was chosen on a whim. Will shoved his hands into his pockets, attempting to warm them from the frigid air of the highway, glancing around the area around them. Hannibal was doing much the same. 

The bar was smokey, the smell of whiskey hung thick in the air, leaving a romantic musk of alcohol and tobacco. It was very much like being in a 20’s style movie, with the cramped quarters, low lights, and wafting smoke. Lights hung down, cutting brightness into the dim atmosphere that was weaving with the tobacco fog.  _ Rippers _ started to file in behind them, and Will and Hannibal stepped aside, calmly watching them. 

After a few moments, Will started to move towards the bar, glancing around at the atmosphere further. He liked it, the darkness and the privacy of this place. The absence of warmth beside him made him glance back.

Hannibal was still standing by the door, looking at the  _ Rippers _ filing in. It was only when the young girl from earlier entered, the one that Hannibal had labeled as Abigail Hobbs, that he offered her a warm smile, and took her arm. Looking back, Will saw several employees nod to the pair in understanding, giving the okay for the underage girl’s presence. The two stood arm in arm, looking very much like father and daughter.

Will blinked at the two, while seeing his friend as a father figure. It looked natural, on Hannibal, the light stubble that shadowed his face giving him that live-in-dad look. It didn’t help that Abigail looked a bit like him, especially in the facial structure. 

They were both very beautiful people.  

Abigail and Hannibal strode towards him, and Will glanced again at the bar. Several  _ Rippers _ were seated there already, ordering drinks, looking worn from riding all day. 

Will gandered around, again, at the tables and booths. They looked much more comfortable, much more private, than the open tables, and certainly more comfortable than the barstools, right now. Will motioned towards a red booth, secluded towards the back of the bar, and stepped aside as Hannibal and Abigail made for it. Hannibal brushed past Will as he stepped aside, but grabbed his shoulder lightly, ensuring he was in tow with them. Will felt a light squeeze on his shoulder as they parted at the table. 

Hannibal and Abigail slid in, backs to the door, and Will slid in on the other side. The seats of the booth were tall, ensuring privacy, and a swinging light hung above the table. Will felt like he should be drinking and playing cards, in this atmosphere. 

“Who are you?” Abigail suddenly asked, as they were seated. Despite the question, Will didn’t tense. Children were easy enough to deal with, so long as you were honest with them. 

Will bit his lip, attempting to think up a response that was passable in front of both Hannibal and Abigail. 

Blunty, Abigail motioned towards Will, “I saw your jacket. You’re not a  _ Ripper _ . I’ve never seen you around here, before.”

“You’re right about that,” Will sighed, “I’m a friend of Doctor Lecter.” It wasn’t a lie, but at least it was enough. 

Will heard Hannibal click his tongue at the title, “Hannibal, Will. Please, call me Hannibal, especially when we’re in relaxed company.”

It was as if the chatter was unheard by Abigail. She was still eyeing Will, and Will finally felt himself heat under her scrutinizing stare.

“So, why’d you go on a run with the  _ Rippers _ , then?”

Things went quiet in their booth, the noise of the bar around them seeming muted compared to their current silence and thick atmosphere. Will felt his face flush, felt the nervous thrumming of his heart. Talking really wasn’t his thing, let alone being sociable, let alone being sociable with someone he barely knew, even if it was a child. He was getting nervous, as he glanced up.

His gaze caught Hannibal’s. 

Hannibal looked a lot more relaxed compared to Will, different emotions swimming in his gaze. Curiosity and playfulness were the most vibrant among them, and Will felt his light amusement coming off of him in waves. 

Will’s mouth dried as he realized he still hadn’t responded to Abigail’s question. 

“I sent him a message,” chimed Hannibal, “I wanted him to join us. He’s a guest, a friend, in our run this evening.” Hannibal’s gaze tore from Will, eyeing, instead, the younger girl beside him. 

Abigail blinked, looking sated. 

Will opened his mouth to add on to the thought.

A sudden noise broke the concentration that was flowing around the booth. Hannibal whipped his head around, and Abigail let her eyes widen, looking over at him. Will eyed the door through the smoke.

A few  _ Forensics _ had walked in. Three of them, to be exact. The noise that was heard was their loud, obnoxious laughter. 

The three of them were calling out to the  _ Rippers _ in a crude manner, sneering, and making a drunken scene. 

This close to the inner roads of the city, it wasn’t surprising to see how drunk they were. It was easy to walk to everything, even when you were that drunk. 

The  _ Rippers _ held their heads down as Will saw Hannibal eyeing the  _ Forensics _ . Will saw the way his shoulders squared, his jaw straightened, and his gaze never closed as he refused to blink. Hannibal was stiff as he glanced between the three _ Forensics _ and his riders on the bar, closest to them. Will watched Hannibal’s gaze. This was a new side of him. An irate, protective side. 

More calls broke Will’s attention, and he felt himself trying to sink into his seat. 

These three  _ Forensics _ were none that he knew. But, he was almost sure that they would know him. With his  _ Lone Wolf _ patch and scruffy features, Will was pretty easy to pick out of a crowd. 

Besides that, almost all of Jack’s crew knew who he was now, either by word of mouth, or seeing him, Beverly, and Jack together at the  _ Forensics’ _ bar. Will had been in their turf as a friend, and now he was about to be seen sitting with the  _ Rippers’ _ President. 

The  _ Rippers _ tried to keep still, and unfazed, as one of the _ Forensics _ started to get a bit rowdy. The  _ Forensic _ reached out, shoving the closest  _ Ripper _ (A slender man with combed back hair) in the shoulder. The abused  _ Ripper _ had his shoulders squared, and it was obvious he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t make a move. 

Not until it happened again. 

The abused  _ Ripper _ stood, unwilling to take the treatment. Seeing a possible fight, the _ Forensic _ shoved him again, directly in the center of the chest. 

Shocked noises echoed around the bar as the  _ Ripper _ stumbled backwards, another group of his own patch-brothers catching him. The high-pitched cackling of the  _ Forensics _ filled the bar as the  _ Rippers _ that caught their comrade started to grow just as irritated as him.

One of the  _ Forensics _ tapped the others on the shoulder, gesturing towards the  _ Rippers’ _ glares, “Whatcha gonna do about it?” he mocked, getting too close for comfort, right into the general area of the slim, combed back _ Ripper _ that was just starting to adjust himself and stand properly again.

That was the breaking point. 

A few  _ Rippers _ rushed forwards. Will felt the atmosphere around him blur as Hannibal swooped up from his seat, glancing back at the booth, holding his arm back. He wanted them to stay where they were.

To stay out of trouble. 

To keep themselves unseen.

To keep Will unseen. 

The pushed _ Ripper _ had a  _ Forensic _ by the collar, and the  _ Forensic _ was doing the same. The two of them threw wild, unaimed punches at each other, cursing and fuming with drunken rage. 

Behind the bar, bartenders were yelling at them to knock it off. A few patrons were screaming and yelling. 

Vocal jabs and calls came from either side as the pair threw more enraged blows. 

Will stared as the  _ Ripper _ cut a blow into the  _ Forensic _ hard, just below the ribs, “Back off!” he called out as the  _ Forensic _ stumbled back, gasping for air. 

Several  _ Rippers _ were heading for the door, unwilling to be caught in this situation by the police, unwilling to face the police in general. 

The _ Forensics  _ were spitting fury, yelling and cursing, and the _ Rippers _ were doing much the same. Some of them looked ready to brawl too, right in the middle of the bar. 

Things grew chaotic as Hannibal pushed through his men, shouting, and shoving himself in between the two of them. He faced the  _ Forensics _ , arms spread out in front of his  _ Ripper _ defensively, a deadly spark in his eye. Will could see his tense shoulder blades and, as he watched, saw the light shake in his legs. He couldn’t tell if Hannibal was scared, or furious. Although it was probably the ladder, Will thought it could be a bit of both. 

“The fuck are you?” A  _ Forensic _ spat, teeth bared, lip bloodied.

“I’m their  _ President _ ,” Hannibal stated, his own sharp teeth bared. His tone was oddly cold, calm, and calculated for the situation. It commanded attention. 

The _ Forensics _ paled, glancing at each other, before looking back at Hannibal. A second later and they were staring around the bar, seeing that they were, in fact, vastly outnumbered. 

The air was still. 

Another moment and the three _ Forensics _ were rushing for the door, scrambling around tables and knocked over chairs. 

“Jack’s gonna know where you were!” was called out by one of the  _ Forensics _ , in a drunken slur, as they rushed through the doors of the bar. Will wasn’t sure which one it was. It didn’t matter either way. 

As the three of them were shoving out, he saw one of them eye him. His eyes narrowed, and he tapped his friend on the shoulder, grumbling, and gesturing lightly to Will, before they left.

The air changed, from horrified and enraged, to a lighter, shakier tone. A few  _ Rippers _ gathered at the nearest window, glancing out, “They’re running! Stupid fucks didn’t even bring their own bikes!” was called out. A few  _ Rippers _ laughed wholeheartedly. Will’s tense muscles refused to settle as he glanced over towards Abigail.

She looked just as uncomfortable as him. 

Will observed Hannibal, again. He had his hand on his  _ Ripper’s _ shoulder, lightly patting it, his face all concern and understanding. The fight hadn’t been provoked, the _ Ripper _ had been prodded until he was forced to defend himself. The  _ Ripper _ was nodding now, a few other patch-brothers patting him on the back and the shoulder, consoling him or congratulating him on a fight well fought. 

It was a few moments of Hannibal mumbling to his  _ Ripper _ , Will watching him, unable to hear what he was saying, but being able to read his expressions to the best of his ability. Hannibal’s eyes were deep, his hand tight on the other’s shoulder, his head lowered as he mumbled and soothed. Hannibal cared for his  _ Rippers _ , deeply. If it wasn’t apparent before, it was now. 

When the  _ Ripper _ was thoroughly consoled, and the attention started to die down, the bartenders moving to clean up the mess, Hannibal made his way back over, “This may have caused some trouble,” he stated lightly. His eyes were tired, his body looking worn, his combed-back hair was fringed in the front, blond-grey strands lingering in front of his eyes. 

“Everything gonna be okay?” Will asked lightly. He was being genuine, the thought of trouble from a few drunken  _ Forensics _ made his stomach twist. Hannibal didn’t deserve that.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Hannibal paused, his eyes catching Will’s as he leaned over the table, “everything will be just fine.” 

The two stared at each other, for a good few seconds, before Abigail broke in, “They’re always so violent. We never try to spur them on, they just come at us like that.”

Will nodded, feeling tired, “I’ve seen.”

When Will looked back up at Hannibal, he was leaned back up, straight, pulling Bedelia aside, who had come to talk to him, presumably about what to do next. 

“We’ll disband from here,” Will heard Hannibal say, his voice laced with exhaustion and exasperation. Bedelia nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. Will watched her, as they spoke for a moment longer. Hannibal was gesturing slightly to Will. When Bedelia parted from Hannibal, she looked at him. Her eyes were cold. 

They were silent for a moment, Hannibal surveying the bar, and his remaining  _ Rippers _ , before turning to Will, “Apologies if this seems too up front, but, may we make our way to your home, Will? Tonight’s atmosphere has been thoroughly chilled over.”

It was the second time that Will smiled, that night. 

 

* * *

 

The three of them pulled in, the rumbling of their engines dying off one by one as they parked in Will’s driveway. 

The air on the highway had been absolutely frigid, frost playing at the branches of trees and coating the grass. Will was lightly shaking, his thin body unable to retain much heat for very long, and, even though the days of El Nino were warm, the nights still fell to an uncomfortable cold.

“Ah, so this is where the reclusive alpha dog lives,” Hannibal mumbled, and Will let out a light laugh.

“Yeah, this is home.”

The three of them made it to the door, and, after fumbling with keys for a good moment, Will let them in, holding the door open to them.

The dogs were barking happily, all wagging tails and licking tongues. Abigail made a noise of surprise.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Will stumbled in, holding the door open, “Outside, get outside,” he called lightly, and the dogs ran around him, tromping in his yard. Will closed the door all but a crack, so that they could come back in when they were ready to. 

“I didn’t know you had dogs,” Abigail said. Will knew that she should have said, _ ‘I didn’t know you had this many dogs’ _ . It was a natural reaction. 

Hannibal, on the other hand, had been warned of his little pack, “They’re charming, Will,” he reassured, “They give the home a rustic feel.”

Will smirked at Hannibal, “Yeah, I’m totally all about that,” his voice was jokingly sarcastic, “Just a rustic lumberjack in the woods, killing for food, killing elk in between my days, like an Alaskan man.”

Hannibal was giving him a smug look, too, “Close, you’re just a rustic man in the woods. Although an Elk pelt does sound awfully charming.”

It was Abigail’s turn to laugh, she had been looking around the room, studying the fireplace and Will’s furniture, which was lightly salted in dog hair of all colors. If Will knew that they were coming tonight, he would have cleaned up. Still, as he glanced over at Hannibal, he was doing the same, taking in the surroundings. He looked at ease. 

 

It was later in the night that Will made tea, from a metal kettle. It was a simple herbal tea that he bought from the store, wrapped in their own tea packets, premade. It wasn’t expensive, or fancy, but, it was relaxing, and warm, and the best that he could offer tonight. 

The dogs had come back inside, settling around and getting used to the company. Hannibal had seated himself in the chair, a hand occasionally reaching down to scratch at a mutt behind the ear, and Abigail had settled on the couch, looking oddly poised, and perhaps a bit self conscious.

The night was cold, calm, and collected. It was a stark difference compared to what they had experienced earlier. 

They drank tea, and shared idle conversation. All of them laughed at least twice. It seemed as if they were all happy, even around each other. The thought made Will relax further. 

 

It was about midnight when Hannibal turned to Abigail, “Come, we should get back. We’ll ride back to town together, and depart from there.” 

Abigail nodded, quickly thanking Will for the excellent night. The smile on his face came naturally, as Abigail wandered over to shake his hand, “Anytime,” Will called. He meant it.

Abigail nodded, smiling herself. She looked at Hannibal, a moment, “I’ll be outside,” she excused softly, petting dogs on the head as she passed and made her way through the front door. Will was smiling at where she exited, his gaze tired, his eyes half-lidded. 

Hannibal stood, adjusting his coat, and his gloves. Will stood, too, meeting him at the door, about to open it for him. Hannibal’s hand laid over his own, holding the door shut for but another moment, as he turned towards Will. They were incredibly close.

“Stay in touch, now, Will,” Hannibal murmured. His voice was low, and kind, and the smile there was implied fully. 

They stood there a moment longer before Will nodded furiously. It was another moment before Hannibal opened the door, Will’s hand sliding out from under his own as he stepped back. Hannibal smiled kindly at him before he shut the door. 

It took a moment of silence before Will realized he was holding his breath. It came out in a shaking sigh, unsure of why he was so suddenly nervous. Will backed up against the door, running a shaking hand through his hair, and listened as the bikes rode away. 

After a moment of gathering himself, calming his shakes that resulted from the close contact of another person, Will sat himself on his bed, and grabbed his phone.

_ ‘I sent him a message. I wanted him to join us.’ _ Hannibal’s voice rung through his head as he unlocked his device.

There were no messages from Hannibal Lecter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as if Will is really starting to question himself, here! Alas, our real plot starts to thicken! What will all of this mean? I really hope you guys like this extra-long update!
> 
> Guys, if it isn't obvious by now, I'm writing Will with a bout of severe social anxieties. I have the condition myself, and take a 175 MG pill every day for it that really mellows me out. I can't imagine living without it, now. I remember the thought of even going out to school, or work, or a restaurant killed me, and made me quake. Will's dealing with that now, poor boy.
> 
> Comment, Kudos, and subscribe, as always! Feel free to message me at HijackTheJackal on tumblr, I'm always around. Also, message me if you catch any mistakes, as always.


	10. Cᴀʟʟs & Cᴀʟᴀᴍɴɪᴛʏ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛs ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ Jᴀᴄᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɢᴇᴛ ᴜɢʟʏ. Hᴇ ʀᴜɴs ᴛᴏ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʀɴ ʜɪᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄɪᴇᴠᴇs ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴏᴡɴ.

It was no more than the morning after that the cold weather returned with a full force, leaving the skies cloudy, and the grass dead. 

Unable to go out to the river to fish, now that it was frozen back over, Will took his time working on his lures, stocking up his supply for when his sales would raise in the spring. It was always early spring to late summer that he was busiest. He would also be busy in the fall, when his sales would shoot for a week or two in the late season, with people trying to get some good catches in right before the warm weather closed off, leaving the fish trapped and sleeping beneath the ice for winter. 

So, in preperation for spring, Will worked. 

 

It was a few days later that he found himself in the grocery store, alone, in a wrinkled flannel shirt, moseying around the isles. He took more time than needed at the pet section, scanning the dog treats, and dog food, and dog toys. More money went to his dogs than himself. He often rationalized it by saying there were seven dogs, and only one him, and that made him feel better about the amount of money he would spend on them, and the lack of that amount that he would spend on himself. The only other things that Will picked up were some milk, some cereal, and some canned food. It would last him until he went out, next. 

Will shrugged against the cold as he made his way to his car, a dirty station wagon that spent more time in the garage than it did in his driveway. The only time he used the car was when he went for groceries, or any other shopping. If it was daily errands, he would take his bike, but his bike wasn’t exactly good at carrying his groceries back to his house, especially on the bumpy back roads that led up to his driveway. 

Seating his buys in the back seat, Will slid into his seat, and shivered against the cold as he blew hot air into the cup of his hands. He sat there a moment, warming himself up, before he felt like he could successfully drive away without shaking all over the road. He slid his hands onto the steering wheel as he started the car, and looked up.

A couple of bikers were making their way from a nearby store, their bikes seated in the same parking lot as Will. He watched as they mounted their bikes, and slid on their helmets, their backs to him.

They were wearing _ Forensics _ jackets.

Will let his eyebrows furrow. Now that he thought of it, things had been quiet. Too, too quiet. Will hadn’t heard from Hannibal in a few days. Hannibal or Jack, for that matter. It was slightly concerning. 

He whipped his phone out, intent on shooting Hannibal a fast, short text, to make sure he was alright; it would ease his mind to know that the  _ President _ wasn’t run down by Jack’s angry crew.

Instead, a text scrolled across his screen. 

**JACK :** Meet me at the bar?

Will eyed the text with hesitation. Slowly opening his conversation with Jack, he stared at the message for a moment longer, before typing out a response.

**WG :** Yeah, is everything okay?

Will tried to ignore the shaking in his hands.

**JACK :** You know that it’s not.

A low sigh escaped from him, and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was shaking from the cold or his nerves, anymore.

Will drove home with a death grip on his steering wheel.

 

Once the groceries were all packed in, Will brewed himself some tea, and sat himself down on his bed. He opened Hannibal’s contact.

**WG :** Jack wants to see me at the bar, he texted me.

**HL :** Is everything okay?

**WG :** He told me no, it’s not.

**HL :** We can both imagine what this is about.

**WG :** Yeah.

**HL :** Do you want me to go with you?

**WG :** No, that would make it worse. How bad would that look?

**HL :** Rather bad, I suppose. Be safe, Will. I’m just a call away.

**WG :** I know, thanks.

Will closed his phone, and laid back, mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead.

 

* * *

 

Will pulled into a parking spot in front of the bar, gripping his handlebars. He swallowed, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands. He just had to get up and go, get up and walk in. It took a few moments to will himself to stand, but once he was, he knew that he had to go in. Taking a deep breath, he strode towards the door. 

The inside of the bar was warm, and comfortable. Looking around, Will was afraid of what he would see; All of Jack’s crew? Police? He didn’t know what was waiting for him as he stared around the bar.

Most of the bar was surprisingly empty. There were a few patrons at the bar, tables and booths, but Will didn’t see any  _ Forensics _ jackets. The bar tenders moved behind the bar with ease, wiping things down, and serving drinks.

Jack was seated at the bar in a long black coat, gloves still on. His helmet rested in front of him. One hand was gripping a beer. 

Will let out a shaking breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He gathered himself for a moment, mentally preparing himself for whatever Jack may have in store for him, before he strode across the bar, and sat down beside Jack. 

It was almost like old times, again.

Except now, things were quiet. Awkward and silent. Pushing money across the bar, Will mumbled his request for a beer. His change, and the drink, was slid towards him moments later. 

Silence pressed against them. 

It was Jack to start, “Heard you were running with the _ Rippers _ , now.”

Will gave a light snort, “Bullshit,” he started, “wrong place, wrong time.”

Jack’s gaze burned into Will, and he knew that he was looking at him, now, with his dark, hard eyes, “When did looking for evidence for me include getting cosy with the club’s _ President _ ?”

Jack actually thought that Will was still trying, at this point. Will felt his pulse flutter in his sheer annoyance, “Look at my jacket, Jack. I’m still a _ Lone Wolf _ . I’m not a  _ Ripper _ . I’m sorry about what happened to Miriam, but,” he stopped, and paused there. He didn’t want to finish the sentence.

Will felt the shift as Jack leaned back, seriously scrutinizing his jacket, “Not for long,” he mumbled out. It was almost too quiet to hear. 

It was like a slap to the face. A slap to his freedoms, actually, “Maybe you should fucking control your riders, huh, Jack?” Will grumbled out with an implied sneer. Just like last time, he wouldn’t roll over and be one of Jack’s dogs to be put on a tight leash. 

“Maybe the  _ rats _ shouldn’t be riding around in _ our _ turf.” His tone was dismissive.

Another jerk to the collar, an attempt to muzzle the dog. 

“They were peaceful! Hell, you don’t  _ own _ the roads!” It would be Will to lose his patience first. He didn’t have enough stability for this. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

Will’s foot was restlessly tapping on his barstool, trying to release his pent up energy. He’d had just about enough.

They remained quiet for a time. He refused to reply to Jack’s last comment. 

When Jack didn’t respond, he got up, and turned to leave.

“They don’t come back. If they do, we’re gonna have issues.”

Will felt himself whip around. His molars were grinding in the back of his mouth, he was forcing his pulse to settle, “Stay away from them.”

With that, he walked away, beer mostly unfinished. 

It was only when he reached the door did he hear, “You’d do a lot better here, than with Miriam’s killer.” Will turned at that, scanned Jack’s face. He wasn’t angry, now. He looked more resigned, more saddened. He looked desperate, his eyes tired, and deep, the lines on his face more apparent than ever.

Will couldn’t bring himself to care, “Hannibal didn’t do it. I know that much.” 

 

The ride home was dreadful. The cold, and his nerves, left Will a shaking, stuttering mess, and he stared at every traffic light hard, to avoid having to look around, to avoid having the possibility of making eye contact with someone. He just couldn’t deal with the people around him, anymore. 

It was only when he was home that he realized he really did need to call Hannibal, however fed up with everyone that he was.

Hannibal answered on the third ring. Will got up, and paced around his drive while he talked, closing his eyes, trying to forget the metal coolness of the phone against his ear. It was so much easier to act like he was talking to himself, “He doesn’t want you back. I told him you were peaceful, I told him everything. He thinks,” Will paused. Was it a good idea to say this?

“He thinks I’m getting  _ ‘comfortable’ _ with you.”

“You  _ are _ getting comfortable with me, are you not? I know I’m rather comfortable with you.”

Hannibal’s light reassurance had more of an effect than Will thought it would. He heard himself chuckle into the phone, “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

Things went rather quiet on Hannibal’s end, and Will felt a light tickle of anxiety. Had he been too straightforward with what Jack had had in mind? 

“Well,” Will practically sighed when he heard Hannibal’s voice ring through the speaker again, “even if that’s not what he meant, you’re your own man, Will, and you choose your own colors.”

Will blinked as Hannibal continued.

“Make yourself happy.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected. It surely wasn’t that. The next time he spoke, whether it was because of his nerves, or the thought of doing something for himself for once, Will heard the tremble in his own voice, “Yeah, I will.” 

“Are you okay?” Hannibal was quick to respond, “Do you want me to come there?”

“No,” Will jolted upright, standing in his yard, “No, I’m fine.” He sounded more like he was reassuring himself, than Hannibal, “How’s Abigail?”

A noise rang from the phone, it was Hannibal humming in thought, “I haven’t heard from here since a day or so ago. I saw her on the roads, we pulled off together,” he paused. Will felt his brows furrow with concern. There was something Hannibal was debating on saying, “She looked incredibly tired, Will. I told her she always had a welcome hand in my home, and wrote down my address again, for her, since she seemed to have lost it the first time.”

Will paused for a moment, thinking, “Have you tried calling her?”

“I’ll try that after I’m done with you,” Hannibal’s voice was hesitant, he was deep in thought about his own situation with Abigail, now.

“Well, I think that I’m just about finished, here. I just wanted to tell you, before,” Will paused. 

_ Before someone got hurt. _

There was a moment of silence, Hannibal probably thought he was going to finish his sentence, before Will heard a gentle, “I highly appreciate it.” 

Will closed his eyes against the light wind that came through, which blew his curls back away from his face, “They’re going to treat you and the  _ Rippers _ as hostile sightings, from now on, you know.”

“Even on our side of the borders?”

“I think so. This could get ugly.”

A noise of recognition came from Hannibal, and Will paused.

“Jack thinks you killed Miriam Lass,” it was out of his mouth before Will could stop himself. 

“Oh?” Hannibal hummed, “And why does he think that?”

“Just because of the hostility, I guess,” Will thought now was the best time to be truthful. 

“If I remember right, it was their side that was hostile with us, and not the other way around,” Hannibal’s voice was a gruff grumble, a pang of sympathy rang through Will. Hannibal didn’t deserve this situation, and Jack was all too territorial. 

“I tried to tell him that,” Will sympathized lightly. 

“Well,” Hannibal’s voice was coy, “what if I had done it? What would you think of me, then?”

The question was unnerving, and Will found himself replying whilst he was still in his thought process about it, “I don’t know,” he started, “I may not think of you much differently.” This conversation seemed too deep to be having over the phone, “What if I had done it?” Will enquired. For some reason, the impending answer made his chest tight. 

“You would still be a treasured rider among my group.”

Will almost snorted in annoyance, “You do know I’m not a  _ Ripper _ , right?”

“Don’t mistake me, Will,” Hannibal’s voice was an attempt to soothe him, “Where you ride, and what you label yourself as, are two very different things,” Hannibal paused, “Sometimes one has to be without the other,” he added. His voice sounded far away, now. 

Will watched the dark, spidery skyline of trees, “Jack doesn’t think so.”

“Jack,” Hannibal chuckled, “is not the most secure man.” 

Will felt one side of his mouth turn up in a lopsided smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind of short chapter, but a chapter nonetheless! I hope you like this Valentine's day update!   
> In honor of the day, we see things delve a little deeper between Hannibal, and Will. Ah, Will's finally realizing that Hannibal literally gives no shits, he just wants him happy.   
> It can't last forever~
> 
> Kudos, comment, and subscribe! As always, my tumblr is HijackTheJackal, and I gladly take questions, comments and the like!   
> Message me with any mistakes, I'll be glad to fix them!


	11. Tᴇᴍᴘᴇsᴛs & Tᴏᴜᴄʜᴇs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tʜᴇ sᴛɪɴɢ ᴏғ ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇss ɪs sᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɴᴀᴡ ᴀᴛ Wɪʟʟ Gʀᴀʜᴀᴍ. Wʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ, ɪɴ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴏғ Aʙɪɢᴀɪʟ Hᴏʙʙs, ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɢᴇᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ.

Will let his soft blue eyes open against the morning sunlight. He was sprawled on his bed, atop the covers. He had spent the rest of the day working on his lures, which had a growing selection that were stored in boxes, neatly organized, by type and color. He made multiples, very often, having at least two or three of each kind and color. It was worth it if someone wanted more than one kind of the same lure, or another customer was interested in the same color and style. Each lure had a different purpose, each was designed to catch a seperate fish. Hopefully, in the spring, his work would find profit in the form of fish caught, and returning customers. It was a hope. 

Will slowly rolled out of bed, giving a lingering glance to the cold winter morning. Though the sun was bright, he knew better than to believe its promise of warmth. The skeleton trees rattled in the morning light. Harsh winds made for colder weather, especially in the winter. Will closed eyes eyes, and sighed. Yesterday had been a particularly long day, and he wasn’t sure if he felt completely refreshed and de-stressed from his rest. Jack’s words and actions weighed heavy on him, made for an anxious flutter in his heart. Will had no reason to be anxious. He could separate himself from all of this, very easily. He could stop talking to Hannibal, stop talking to Jack. He hadn’t been close to them before, even when he did ride around the roads. He could cut it from his life now, if he wanted to.

But Will didn’t want to. He felt invested, felt that giving up now was letting some unknown, unseen force win. 

Or maybe giving in was just Will losing. There didn’t have to be a winner, so long as Will lost.

He didn’t want to lose.

Not this time.

 

The shower stream was hot, and Will blinked sleep from his eyes as he slid his clothes off, throwing them in the hamper to be washed later. Fresh clothes sat on the sink, along with his towel, which was oddly plush, and soft, and smelled vaguely of his cologne from all his time using it. 

Naked in his bathroom, Will took a moment to regard his own body. He wasn’t staring at his musculature or his skin, or even his cock. He was staring at his scars. Various scars littered his body, from his rough childhood with the dangerous mechanics and tools of boat motors, to fishing accidents, and the like, Will’s body was covered with a plethora of various small scars. 

The shiver of the cold bathroom tile worked its way up Will’s legs, until he shuddered. The water ran a comfortable warm now, not too hot to start out with, and Will slid in, closing the curtain behind him. 

Water cascaded down his chest, steamed around him, and Will tipped his head back, and let his eyes slide shut. 

If he tried, he could almost imagine yesterday’s drama and anxiety flake off of his skin via the water, and swirl down the drain. 

He was thinking about it again. 

That was the problem, with his anxious tendencies. He could tell himself to stop thinking about it, but by doing so, he was only thinking about thinking about it. Which made him think about it. 

Furrowing his brows, Will tried to clear his mind with the water, once more. He brought a hand up to run up his chest, lightly scrubbing between his pectorals. 

The hand moved to the tender flesh of his own neck, and he found himself tilting his head to the side, lips parted to draw in enough breath, whilst being sprayed with water. The skin against his neck was incredibly tender, untouched for long periods of time. In fact, the only person who ever touched Will’s neck was himself, and occasionally a snuffling dog nose. 

It had been a long time since anyone had touched Will, in general.

The thought sent a light, vibrating loneliness through him, a feeling in his chest that he didn’t know was the speed up or slow down of his heart. It felt like a mix of both, jittery sensations tinted with sadness. 

Will loved his freedom, but there were times when he almost longed to be touched. For all of his anxieties and dislike of people, there was a natural longing for contact that he found in himself. He had tried to work past it before, tried to remove it, but it was primal.

Humans were social creatures, and Will just accepted the fact that one small section of him would be missing someone’s touch on his arm, or a heartbeat close to his own, in bed. 

That section wasn’t big enough for him to want to give up his independence. So, he abstained.

Will grabbed the soap, and spent the rest of his shower in cool thoughtlessness. 

 

The dogs scampered around as Will came out of the bathroom, dressed. He immediately filled up a dented metal kettle, intent on making use of the cold weather, and brewing something to warm him. Normally, he prefered coffee, but when he wasn’t working, the sweet taste of tea and the light caffeine that came with it was enough for him to start his day. 

When the kettle had been set, and the stovetop turned on high, Will shuffled through his little pack of dogs, who were woofing and awake, probably awoken by him rolling out of bed, or the sound of the shower. Only Winston still lounged, looking tired-eyed, and perhaps even a little sick. 

Will bent down next to the blond dog, scratching behind his floppy ear, “You okay, bud?” he asked softly. Winston lifted his head and gave Will’s hand a slow, appreciative lick. It was all the confirmation he needed, and Will smiled down at the mutt. There was nothing like a dog’s unbiased love. 

Standing again, he whistled at the pack, who woofed in turn and padded around him as he went to open the door. As soon as he opened the door to the cool air, the mutts streamed past him, taking their cue to go run for the morning and let out a little energy. Winston was the last to pad out, his tail high, his eyes bright, sleep gone from his eyes. Will smiled fondly at the dog, and stroked his flank as he trotted past. 

Closing the door all but a crack, Will moved for his phone, which was sitting on his bedside table. Opening it, he stared at the screen. A text scrolled lazily across it, which had been delivered to him at 4 AM, a most ungodly hour.

**HL :** Will, call me when you have the chance.

Will frowned at the text. 4 AM messages from Hannibal Lecter? Another beat of anxiety fluttered at his chest, and he grimaced at it. Clicking on Hannibal’s contact, he pressed the phone to his ear as he made way for the kitchen again, the kettle lightly whistling with steam. 

Hannibal answered almost immediately, halfway through the first ring. Will was already entering his kitchen when Hannibal picked up, “Will,” his voice sounded airy, relieved, on the other end.

“Hey,” Will mumbled, taking the kettle off the stove, where it stopped its crying almost immediately, “What’s up?”

“Abigail didn’t answer me,” Hannibal immediately answered.

Will smirked into the phone as he pulled a mug from above his sink, “Hannibal,” he called lightly, “You know you have to try more than once before you pull a ‘big-bad-biker-dad’, right?” Will was still smirking as he poured the hot water into the mug, reaching for a tea packet to seep in it. He was half smiling because of his own clever wordiness. 

“I tried all night.”

Will practically dropped the kettle as he looked up from his cup. His brows furrowed, and he only just remembered to stop pouring the scalding water was it reached the top of his glass. 

“I tried all night,” Hannibal repeated, “and then this morning.”

Things were silent, for a moment. Will poked at the tea bag in his glass, his gaze dull with worry.

“Are the  _ Rippers _ meeting up, tonight?”

“No,” Hannibal’s voice seemed so calm on the other end, but so off, at the same time. He was genuinely worried. Will was hearing Hannibal scared, for the first time. The thought made him bite his lip, and chew it for a moment, as he thought. 

“Well, do you have her address?”

“Of course, it’s required paperwork when you sign up with us, just in case.” 

“I think this is a ‘just in case’ moment, Hannibal.”

Again, silence. When Hannibal’s voice next rang through the phone, it was laced with light curiosity.

“Would you like to join me for a ride?”

 

* * *

 

Their bikes grumbled as they pulled up in Abigail’s driveway. The chilly winter breeze had refused to relent, and Will was thankful for the tight leather that hugged his shoulders, and the warm gloves on his hands, and, especially, the helmet that shielded his face from the frigid winds. 

Hannibal killed his engine first, sitting upright on his bike for a moment, staring at Abigail’s home. Will pulled up close to him, flipping the visor of his helmet up. 

Nothing looked off, on the Hobbs’ home. It was surrounded with the winter skeleton trees, and a wispy breeze pulled through the yard, but there wasn’t anything off putting or concerning to see. 

The two of them stepped off their bikes, and hung their helmets on their handlebars. 

When they made it to the door, Hannibal stepped forth and brushed past Will, lightly resting a hand on his shoulder to warn him of the movement. Will looked sideways at Hannibal, and when Hannibal’s whiskey gaze caught his own, he explained softly, “She may have mentioned me, before. Her parents may know of a ‘Hannibal Lecter’, from her mouth. She lives at home, still.”

With that, the doorbell was pushed.

A grungy man opened the door, looking too tired. He had a white shirt on, his eyes were sunken and deep, and his hair, which was thin with balding, was messed. He had either just woken up, or didn’t mind his appearance. His eyes had a disturbing red to the edges of the whites. A light alcoholic smell drifted from him.

“Who’re you?” he questioned bluntly, eyeing the two of them up and down. 

Hannibal stood for a moment, before he stuck out his hand, “Hannibal Lecter, Mr. Hobbs.”

Hobbs ignored Hannibal’s hand, and eyed Will with the same paranoid curiosity.

“Will Graham.” Will’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

Hannibal’s hand had retreated for the favor of being clasped in front of himself, “Is Abigail home?” he questioned softly, “Not to intrude, of course.”

The mention of his daughter's name had Hobbs blinking furiously at Hannibal, his eyes suddenly cold, “Why? What’d she do?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Hannibal chuckled. Will could see the rigid form of his shoulders, “I just need to talk to her.”

“You those filthy, greasy biker rats she’s been hangin’ out with? She brings ‘em home, sometime.”

Will’s gaze trailed over Hannibal’s shoulders and back, as they squared tighter. Even Will felt a bit uncomfortable at the _ Rippers _ being titled  _ ‘filthy, greasy biker rats’ _ . A pang of sympathy ebbed into Will’s chest. Hannibal’s jaw was set. A perfect mask of a nonchalant human. 

Hannibal didn’t answer. 

Hobbs looked Hannibal up and down, a sly smirk coming across his features. He had guessed the answer to the question, “Outta luck, she didn’t come home last night.”

Will blinked, and cocked an eyebrow in Hannibal’s direction. Hannibal blinked as well, and turned his head towards the Hobbs driveway. Abigail’s bike wasn’t parked anywhere in sight.

Hobbs’ gaze followed Hannibal’s, “Told ‘ya,” he grunted softly. He looked rather finished with the conversation.

Hannibal thanked Hobbs for his time, and Will grunted the same response, before they trailed off down the driveway again. Hannibal was looking around the Hobbs’ property again, a new curiosity in his stare. 

Where was Abigail Hobbs?

 

* * *

 

The bar was warm, compared to the chilled outside. A few _ Rippers _ were there already, despite it still being bright and busy outside. The  _ Rippers _ nodded their quiet greetings to Hannibal, he mumbled and smiled and greeted back, and Will couldn’t ignore the way they greeted him, as well. Will’s face had become a recognized one, especially around Hannibal. He answered, out of politeness, nodding back. 

Hannibal and Will slid into a booth across from each other, Hannibal had been leading and chose the seat, instead of the bar. Will was happy to be shielded from the social contact for a while. 

“She may have run off,” Hannibal mused, almost as soon as they had been seated. Will hummed in acknowledgement, “But I don’t know why she would do so without telling me,” Hannibal’s eyes were unfocused, staring past Will, thinking. “We would have sheltered her,” Will noticed the tint of sad wonder in Hannibal’s exotic tone. For the second time that day, his chest tightened, and he wasn’t sure if it was Hannibal’s feelings, or his own, that he was experiencing. Will’s hand slid across the smooth table, and rested on Hannibal’s forearm, for a moment. A platonic, comforting touch. 

Hannibal’s eyes refocused again. What Will wasn’t expecting was the way his gaze closed, the way that his chest deflated in a slow sigh. The way that Hannibal’s other hand slid over Will’s, acknowledging his touch. His skin was fire. Will pulled back slowly and tried to not act burned. 

 

They shared a few drinks, beer, nothing too strong, nothing to even buzz. The drinking was lazy, and, as the sun slid across the sky, and the bar shifted into a burning hot afternoon color, Hannibal urged Will to “not worry”, that they’d figure it out. 

With the tone of his voice, Will was inclined to believe him. 

The sun was starting to touch the line of skeleton trees, when a harsh noise broke their soft conversation. They had slipped into a warm quiet, their talk was almost a whisper. Hannibal’s gaze had been sliding over Will’s drink whenever he moved it. Or, maybe he had been staring at his hands. 

The two of them turned, Hannibal eyed the door, eyed the man that had shoved roughly through the doors. He was wearing a _ Ripper _ jacket. The man furiously asked if Hannibal was there, and, when pointed to his location, rushed towards the booth. Hannibal was standing when the man reached them, looking stricken and hunted.

“There’s a problem” the _ Ripper _ gasped out, a handsome young man with tied back black hair, the artist kind that could pull off a man bun in any situation, “ _ Forensics _ . On our turf. Lingering. We were riding around, and we saw them, and--” the man looked around, frustrated with trying to get his own words out, “C’mon!”

Will and Hannibal shot each other the same worried glance. 

 

When they pulled up, a few other  _ Rippers _ were already there. Their expressions were hard to read. Some of them looked scared. Most of them looked pissed. There were about ten of them, including Will and Hannibal. Some lone bikes were parked in the grass, off the side of the road. All the _ Rippers _ raised their heads, some immediately avoiding Hannibal’s gaze. 

“This way,” the  _ Ripper _ that fetched Hannibal urged, pushing through the small crowd of comrades. They made their way off the edge of the road, pushing past the deadened foliage, and into the woods. 

Just past the line of trees was a small clearing, natural, where the ground was cold, hard, frozen over dirt. 

Will felt his mouth go dry.

Two bodies sprawled and stained the ground in their blood. Their faces were beaten, their fingers bloody. They were wearing  _ Ripper _ jackets. Or, what was left of them, at least. The patches were slashed, and ruined.

Will looked over to Hannibal’s face. Hannibal’s gaze was a hard stare at the edge of the clearing. Will stared at him a moment, before following his gaze. He almost got sick.

Abigail Hobbs was laying in a crumpled heap, not far from the edge of the clearing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp! Things are getting concerning!   
> Okay, who also thought that Hannibal's highkey reaction to Will's lowkey affection was fun. I thought it was fun to write. Things are getting concerning, AND romantic.
> 
> Sorry this is so late. I was so unbelievably sick, I was off all week from work. I go back tomorrow. Ew. 
> 
> Anyways~! Kudos, comment, and subscribe! As always, message me with any errors, and my Tumblr is HijackTheJackal~!
> 
> I just want to make them fuck and call it good.  
> Also, who notices that my chapter titles have gone right out the fuckin' window?


	12. Hᴏsᴘɪᴛᴀʟs & Hᴏsᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aʙɪɢᴀɪʟ Hᴏʙʙs ɪs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴘɪᴛᴀʟ. Wɪʟʟ Gʀᴀʜᴀᴍ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴇss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hospital Trigger Warning? Death Trigger Warning (The Rippers, don't worry.) Uh, crying, emotional agony, and all that good stuff. This is pretty much the most heartwrenching thing I've written in a long time, but it's necessary!

The next few hours were a blur, to Will Graham.

A _Ripper_ had called 9-1-1. There was a flash of lights, sirens, a few _Rippers_ nosed by Hannibal and made their escapes; Some of them weren’t fit to be in the presence of police, to get statements.

Hannibal’s face didn’t read well, at all.

Will had been looking at him, trying to get his read on all of it as police and ambulances came to the scene. He looked closed off, completely and utterly sealed from the world.

When they had laid their eyes on Abigail’s body, Will had shouted a loud curse, running over to her. A few _Rippers_ nosed around her, she had been half hidden in the brush, and most of them had only seen their two dead comrades lying on the ground.

She was still alive, but just barely.

When Will had reached her, he knelt by her side, palming over a wound on her neck immediately. It wasn’t bleeding enough to be fatal. At least, he hoped it wasn’t.

Hannibal’s voice was a muffled tone in the background. He was giving light orders, most of them two or three words. His voice was bland.

“Leave them.” An order about Hannibal’s dead _Rippers_.

“Cover her up.” An order about Abigail Hobbs.

“ _Leave him alone_.” An order about Will Graham. He was hovering protectively over the girl, the poor girl with a shitty dad, and only the open road.

Hannibal didn’t want his _Rippers_ interfering with whatever grieving or horror Will was going through.

They managed to keep Abigail Hobbs alive until the ambulance got there. Will and the _Rippers_ , with Hannibal’s light guidance in the medical field, had kept her blood from spilling all over the dusty, cold ground, and kept her warm enough for her to sustain life.

Her heart was beating, faintly, but she wasn’t conscious.

The ambulance was loaded immediately, and the remaining _Rippers_ gave statements to police. Will heard their accusations against _The Forensics_ loud and clear, even as he and Hannibal strode back to their bikes, stiff and covered in blood.

They would give whatever necessary statements later, they hadn’t seen anything anyways.

The two of them rode close behind the ambulance, all the way to the hospital.

 

* * *

 

Will’s legs shook as he splashed water across his face. He was leaning over a sink, his eyes red, his clothes smell of sweat, dirt, and blood. He felt dirty. He felt tired.

_He felt worn._

He glanced up into the mirror, scowling at the redness that rimmed his blue stare. He had just managed to hold back tears in front of Hannibal, and the _Rippers_.

Will grit his teeth and clenched his jaw as another fat tear slipped from his eye as he blinked. Empathy was rolling heavy over him.

Two people dead, without the rest of their lives to live.

A young girl, thrust into a situation, whilst trying to escape her own demons.

The tragic sadness of it was overwhelming to him, and he could feel the need to cry stinging his eyes almost as soon as the adrenaline had died down, the dead _Rippers_ lugged off, and he saw the absolutely unreadable look on Hannibal’s face. He’ll check this as another reason he always stayed a _Lone Wolf_.

_You get attached to your road-brothers._

Will lightly cursed himself, drying his tears hard with the back of his arm. He’d stand there for another few minutes, a cycle of splashing water over his face, drying his tears, and telling himself to _grow the fuck up_ as they would redden again with a fresh wave of emotional agony.

 

Upon returning to the room, Will saw Abigail, looking so peaceful in her white dressings and cushioned bed. It eased his heart, just a bit. He looked down the bed.

Hannibal’s hand was clasped over her own, the edge of his jacket sleeve brushing against her wrist. His head tucked down into his chest; he was asleep.

Will slowly adjusted his own jacket, unzipping it part way, before moving to sit down in the chair closest to the bed. It was on Abigail’s left side.

Hannibal was sitting close to Abigail’s headboard, on her right side, his back to the door, and the privacy curtain that was drawn. Will was at her feet, on her left, the sun lighting his back, and casting shadows in Hannibal’s direction. There was a padded bench in front of the windows behind him, not too awful far from the bed at all. There was a rolling table, too, which was most plausibly used to aid nurses in their equipment, and a bedside table next to Abigail.

Will’s gaze moved back to the sleeping Hannibal Lecter.

Will watched Hannibal’s chest rise and fall, his fingers clasped over Abigail’s.

In that moment, he wished both of them utter happiness.

 

Will’s eyes flung open.

The room was mostly dark, save for a lamp and the dim television light. He had been watching Hannibal and Abigail sleep, when his own come-down from adrenaline had left him fighting back yawns. He had been keeping a vigil over their sleeping forms right up until sleep tugged at him, as well, and he laid down on the bench, head resting on the padded arm of his jacket as he slept.

Now, Hannibal was standing over him, a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were gentle, tired. Stressed, perhaps. But, they were resting over Will all the same, and his voice was sweet, and soft, “It’s time to go.”

Will nodded, biting his knuckle as he fought back a yawn, and stood. His gaze moved to rest on Abigail.

“What’s the time?” He asked softly, staring at the sleeping girl.

“It’s nearing ten at night, which is when visiting hours stop.”

Will’s gaze lingered there, watching the soft, shallow movements of Abigail’s breathing.

A hand at his shoulder shook him from his trance. Hannibal’s hand was gentle on his jacket, “We’ll come back tomorrow,” his voice was nearly a sweet whisper.

Will gave a low nod, before stepping from the other man’s grip. He made slow, soft steps over to Abigail’s bed, regarding her again for but a moment, before his hands moved down, and he pulled the covers up slowly, further up her body. She stirred, just barely. Will paused, and in the quiet he didn’t hear Hannibal move, either.

Both of them were silent for a moment, in fear of waking her. She needed her rest.

When Abigail’s breathing deepened again, Will rose, turning back towards Hannibal, towards the door.

There was a look on Hannibal’s face that made Will stop, and cock his head towards him. Will had never seen him with that look, before.

Hannibal was watching him, eyes lidded, heavy. He looked passive, and gentle, and…

Will forced his eyes to move back to the privacy curtain, before turning his head over his shoulder to study Abigail. He was still and stiff.

They walked out of the hospital together, to their bikes which were both parked in the same parking space. Will straddled his before Hannibal, who was adjusting his jacket and sliding on his gloves. They sat there, a moment, and Will stared up at the stars, seeing, but not seeing.

“I’ll contact you tomorrow,” Hannibal chimed in lightly, but it was dull. His hand rested against Will’s shoulder again. It was almost grounding.

“I’ll be here as soon as possible,” Will uttered back.

His voice sounded flat, but he meant every word.

 

* * *

 

Will rolled over to the morning, which was cloudy and overcast, his hand immediately rushing to his phone as quickly as his sleepy nerves would allow.

Flicking open the screen, a text sliding across his notifications.

 **HL :** I’ll be at the hospital, Will, send me a text or call before you join us, feel free to take your time.

Like hell he’d take his time.

His morning shower was too hot, his breakfast too cold. The dogs didn’t get as much time to run in the yard as ideal, but they’d be alright until he got back.

Still, Will ate breakfast as the dogs ran around outside.

 **WG :** How is she doing?

Will texted Hannibal in between bites of breakfast that was made in about five whole minutes.

 **HL :** She hasn’t woken up yet, if that’s what you’re wondering

Will winced at himself, paused, and took a sip of his coffee. The words typed from his fingers before he could think exactly of what he was trying to say.

 **WG :** She’s a good kid.

 **HL :** That she is.

Another empathetic stab of sympathy rang out in Will, for Abigail. He hardened himself against it.

 **WG :** Have her parents come to see her, yet?

 **HL :** Not that I’ve been informed of.

 **WG :** Do they know that she’s there?

 **HL :** For sure. I gave the nurses Abigail’s home information, they most certainly would have received a call no more than an hour after she was stabilized, last night.

The sadness in Will’s chest coiled into anger. He clenched his jaw against it.

 **WG :** I’m on my way.

 

Will’s footsteps seemed too loud as he strode slowly into the room. It was dim inside, the curtains drawn over the windows, and the privacy curtain kept the room darkened, and quiet.

The small hospital television was turned idly to some news channel.

Hannibal’s form was beside Abigail’s, his deep eyes studying her, as Will walked in. His gaze raised to the other. Their eyes held together, for a moment. Hannibal’s stare fell back down to Abigail as Will drew near. Will couldn’t help but notice how absolutely tired he looked. The tan, beautiful man he had first met looked drained, as if he was up worrying all night.

“How did you sleep?” Hannibal was the first one to speak.

“Not too good,” Will admitted softly. The night was full of dreams of blood, and death, and tears. There had been no man gently cooing in his ear, last night. There had been no erotic tension. There had only been sadness.

The two remained quiet, Will’s eyes trailing over Abigail, taking her state in.

She was bruised, her skin pale, a smudge of dirt on her neck that Will desperately wished he could wipe off. It was a spot that the nurses had missed when they were dressing her wounds.

“Any news?” Will’s voice sounded quiet, even to himself.

“None,” Hannibal’s tone was the same.

Hannibal moved to lean back as Will sat with him on the bench. He leaned back into the padding, noticing the slightly outdated look of the pattern on the stuffed pillows. Hannibal’s eyes flicked lazily towards the television for a moment, but then moved to settle on Will.

“Shouldn’t you be organizing _Ripper_ stuff?” always elegant, Will Graham, mused awkwardly, “Instead of doing this?”

Hannibal hummed a consideration, “That’s what I have my officials for. Bedelia, Margot and Chiyoh will do just fine, while I’m away. This hardly counts as a vacation.”

Will felt himself stiff at the mention of Bedelia, her cool stare echoing through the space in his mind.

“I know you’re not fond of her,” Hannibal chimed in, prodding lightly, “Even the way you stop still at her name. Does she make you so uncomfortable that you can’t bare to hear of her?” Even at Will’s worst, Hannibal’s voice was still calm, and understanding.

“She doesn’t like me,” Will defended lightly, eyes glazing over to Abigail, tone flat, “Wouldn’t wanna overstep my bounds.”

“Bounds?” Hannibal questioned lightly, “Will, you have none. At least, not with me.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle.

Will looked back over, in that moment. They were sitting side by side, in the darkened room, Hannibal’s stare clouded over, but not maliciously so. Will took note of how his jaw flexed, as he swallowed idly, their faces searching each other.

The harsh sound of the privacy curtain pulling back broke Will from his thoughts. Nurses strolled in, starting to thoroughly check on Abigail’s status, taking temperatures and samples and readings. Hannibal’s gaze rested just as intensely on them as Will’s did.

The nurses were mumbling to each other about updating reports.

“Press the Nurse button if she wakes up,” one of them chimed in, “When she’s awake, it’s important for us to gauge the injury to her head, if there’s any.”

Will swallowed around the words he was being told. Blocking them out would do no good.

In a shuffle of fabric and supplies, the nurses were gone, leaving Hannibal and Will alone in the dark and silence, once again.

Hannibal stood, slowly, but suddenly. Will caught the minute smile on his face, “Shall we let some light in? It’s a clouded day, but the dim brightness could be helpful.”

Together, they pulled the curtain back, Will doing one side, Hannibal the other.

As Will sat, again, he noticed Hannibal fiddling around with a bag beside Abigail’s bed. Will cocked his head at it.

Hannibal was pulling out plastic, sealed containers, setting them on the rolling side table that was currently parked beside the bed. When he looked back, Will’s gaze was watching him with muted curiosity.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Hannibal started, “I brought us some lunch, and little somethings to snack on between then and dinner. I can’t stand the sterile, cold taste of hospital food.”

“Us?” Will mimicked in question, quirking an eyebrow.

“You and I,” Hannibal explained, still fiddling with contained and lids and silverware. Will was silent, unsure of how to respond to the idea. Hannibal had taken time out of his day, out of his sleepless morning, to cook for him.

When Hannibal was pleased with the contents he had pulled, he wheeled the table over, lightly pushing a container of what looked to be meats and vegetables cooked in a thin, dark sauce towards Will.

“I didn’t know you cook,” Will mumbled lightly. His gaze slid to Hannibal, who was sitting beside him, with a dish much like his own.

“I’m very careful about what I put into my body,” Hannibal explained, reaching for a thermos that contained a dark liquid. Wine? Will raised an eyebrow, fighting down the urge to be impressed. He failed. Hannibal had carried all of this in a bag, that must have been strapped onto his bike, or carried.

Hannibal gestured with the thermos, silently asking Will if he would like a drink, and Will didn’t deny a supple amount of wine as it was poured into his glass; a plastic cup that wouldn’t shatter on the ride over.

“It’s not elegant,” Hannibal admitted, and Will thought vaguely of the night they found themselves in a Gentleman’s Club together, sipping fine wine and talking in the low light. It seemed like forever ago, “But it will do. Especially, given the circumstances.” Hannibal speared a bit of seared broccoli with his fork, before lightly pushing it past his lips, and into his mouth.

Will stared down at the food again, before doing the same, letting his eyes slide shut. Whether it was against his tiredness, or the flavor, he wasn’t sure. Both were equally decent reasons.

“That’s delicious,” Will commented lightly, prodding into a piece of meat. Hannibal hummed a gentle thanks, and the two shared a meal together in the clean, dim hospital room of Abigail Hobbs on a cloudy afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long, I wasn't fond of writing this. Mostly because it's so sad and, to be honest, I didn't have the heart to put Will through it right after posting the last chapter.  
> Wow, these two just need to fall into each other's arms and ride into the sunset. And Will says he's not a Ripper. Pffttt, you're bullshitting yourself, buddy.
> 
> I love any and all feedback, and any questions can be directed to my Tumblr, Hijackthejackal~!


	13. Jᴀᴄᴋᴇᴛs & Jᴜxᴛᴀᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴏɴ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ Aʙɪɢᴀɪʟ. Tʜᴇʏ ғᴀʟʟ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴏᴜᴛɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀɪɴᴋs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings! There is some light, adult drinking in this chapter, but no one is drunk, or even buzzed, when they ride home.

The rest of the night passed by in light, sweet quiet. Day faded into night rather quickly, with the clouds, the sun hiding behind it like a cloak, and disappearing as if it were an act of magic.

All the while, Abigail never once stirred. 

Hannibal and Will had found comfort in falling asleep around each other in the dull hours of the hospital, catching up on fitful sleep with sleep that was, honestly, not much more comforting. Their little naps wouldn’t be long, of course, an hour and a few minutes at most, and every time the other stirred awake, the other one would already be conscious. They never fell asleep together, a silently unspoken pact that someone had to be awake to watch over Abigail now. She could wake at any moment. Every time that their eyes would drift open, they’d first seek out Abigail, taking in her status, and, not much longer, the other, and their gaze would hold for a moment in a silent greeting. It was oddly intimate, to wake up to someone, even in the cold, sterile hospital room.

The day had been spent with many-a-nap, and many-a-silent greeting. 

Will stirred from his location, stretched out on that outdated bench. He woke quietly, his eyes simply sliding open. The room was dark, save for the lamp, and not even the television was on. It was also comfortably warm, the kind of warm that lulls you into closing your eyes, the kind of warm that you tell yourself you’re going to blink away from, only to be thoroughly relaxed into sliding your gaze shut permanently, for a nap.

Will had not a clue what woke him.

There was a heavy mass on his body. A blanket, almost, except it has a thicker texture. Will’s eyes were half-lidded, he was silent, and groggy. The mass over him smelled strongly of fine leather, and Hannibal. 

Hannibal.

Will’s gaze slid down, now. 

Hannibal’s biking jacket is draped over him, the Stag’s horns patched on the back, pointing upwards towards Will’s neck. Unconsciously, Will curled into it, and its comforting warmth, unable, or, unwilling, to shake Hannibal’s smell from his nostrils. It would be impossible anyways, the scent is embedded into the leather now, a heavy musk of smoke and herbs. 

Will let his head fall back down to the side, lazy gaze seeking out Abigail. She was still asleep. 

Hannibal was awake, of course, on Abigail;s right side, facing Will. But Hannibal had Abigail’s hand, connected with heart monitors and cords and cables, clasped in both of his own. His thumb was stroking down her wrist in comforting motions, and his eyes were set on her, deep, and tired, and borderline emotional. Borderline.

His hair, which had been so nice when Will arrived to the room, all combed back and tucked into place, was fringed now, as if he’d been running his hands through it, loosening the strands. Some of it fell down in front of his eyes. 

Will watched him, blinked at him. If Hannibal had noticed he was awake, he hadn’t said anything. His eyes hadn’t left Abigail once. 

“You’d be a good dad,” Will mumbled tiredly, still buried under Hannibal’s coat. 

Hannibal glanced up, now, eyeing him. Abigail’s hand was still clasped in his own.

“Nonsense,” he called back weakly. There was an unreadable darkness in his gaze.

“You do so well with her,” Will paused, “You always have.”

The other man is stilled, now. A low sigh slowly escaped him, his chest deflating with it, “She wouldn’t be here, now, if it wasn’t for me, and my  _ Rippers _ .”

Will sat up, almost harshly, “That’s bullshit, Hannibal. She was looking for comfort, for an escape, and you gave her that,” Will felt as if he was talking too much, but continued anyways, “She was looking for _ you _ .” It sounded almost like a realization.

At this, Hannibal was quiet. His eyes searched Abigail, now. The two remained silent for a moment, or longer. Will, who was still tucked under Hannibal’s jacket, now stared down at Abigail with Hannibal. The leather was warm on his skin, worn in the shoulders, musky and masculine. 

“What time is it?” Will whispered, arms folding underneath the jacket.

“Nearing nine.”

“After we’re done here,” his voice was noticeably lighter, “Do you wanna go get some dinner?”

At this, Hannibal glanced up, and smiled. 

 

* * *

 

Will pulled up to the house, right behind Hannibal. Hannibal himself looked back a moment, before clicking off his bike, dismounting. Will did the same, slowly, and glanced upwards at Hannibal’s abode. It was lovely, and luscious, in a way. All pure whites and shutters. 

For a moment, Will thought of home. Louisiana. He thought of Mardi Gras and shutters almost exactly like Hannibal’s, strung with lights and beads. 

“And you live here alone?” Will questioned, as Hannibal strode closer to the door.

“Of course,” there was an audible smirk in his voice, his response lighthearted.

Will fumbled as he made his way to the door, stumbling over himself, “I just didn’t know if you had a girlfriend, or a wife, or,” he paused, leaving the rest unsaid. 

If Hannibal  _ did _ have one of these things, Will thought, he should have known of it by now. 

In retrospect, the question seemed stupid. 

Hannibal eyed him as he pushed the key into the lock, “No, I don’t have a wife, or a girlfriend, or an ‘or’,” there was the crinkle of laughter in the corners of his eyes, he looked pleased, in a way, to bring Will’s words back to him.

“Oh,” Will sighed, pausing, “Well, why not?” He sounded awkward, even to himself.

“Well, why don’t  _ you _ have one?” They stepped through the doorway, and Will took in Hannibal’s space, which was clean, all dark woods and tile. It was incredibly inviting. It felt like a home. Hannibal’s voice was teasing, playful, like an old friend. 

“You don’t know that I don’t have one,” Will fought back, a dorky grin set over his features.

“I can make a guess,” Hannibal hummed, removing his jacket. He hung it on the coat rack. The stag eyes patched into the back were staring at Will, “Otherwise, you wouldn’t spend so much time with me.”

Will went silent, at that. Hannibal did, too. The moment had shifted from teasing, to thick. Hannibal’s hand was rested on the coat rack, as if he had forgotten what he was doing, as if he was shocked still from his own words. He was facing Will, whose brows were furrowed and bunched in thought. 

Suddenly, Hannibal was back in motion, striding off through a doorway, a silent urge to Will to follow, “What do you feel like eating?” Hannibal chimed lightheartedly. When Will entered the room Hannibal was in, he spotted that it was the kitchen. Hannibal was moving and working about it already, as if he already had an idea of what sounded good for their evening meal.

“Oh, uh,” Will shrugged, “Whatever you feel like, it’s your house. Didn’t know you’d be cooking for me when we got here.”

“Well, you wanted some food, didn’t you? I am more than happy to oblige, Will.” Hannibal was dragging certain supplies, utensils, from their spots in drawers and cabinets.

Will felt himself about to object, when Hannibal’s voice chimed in once more, “How about something lighter?” He hummed out, “Something a little more American?”

Will stood for a moment. The man was dead-set on nourishing him, “That sounds fine,” he mumbled back. He didn’t want Hannibal to go through all the trouble for him, if he was perfectly honest, but the elder man was already starting to get to work.

Will stood in the kitchen and watched Hannibal cook, staying out of his way. They made light, sweet conversation, and often one of their lips would upturn in a smile, or a chuckle.

Hannibal’s hands were graceful, in the kitchen. This was his element. His shoulder blades protruded from the back of his thin shirt, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were set into focus. He looked rugged.

He looked  _ handsome _ .

 

The end result of Hannibal’s efforts were grilled chicken breast, with a light barbeque drizzle. The same drizzle, all that had been left over, was used over some steamed vegetables, which were a smaller portion than the chicken. Hannibal was unwilling to let vegetables overtake his meat in the course. 

They sat at Hannibal’s dinner table together, an oddly elegant room that Will thought was more appropriate for stringed quartets to be playing in, and shared a lazy meal. They demeanor almost didn’t match the atmosphere. 

“Why were your eyes so red, when you came back to Abigail’s room, that night?” Hannibal asked it casually, and suddenly, but it made Will still, and go silent. The question had come from almost nowhere. 

“I was crying,” Will mumbled, honestly. He was honest, but not proud. His gaze fell downcast, while he cut off a piece of chicken, and busied himself in chewing. This was not the topic of conversation he thought he would be having at Lecter’s dinner table. He thought the moment of his shaking vulnerability had passed when the sun had fell, and Abigail had lived through the night.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, “I didn’t expect you to admit it,” his foreign accent mused, lightly. They were quiet for a moment longer.

“It’s okay to cry, Will. Your empathy towards my Rippers, and towards Abigail, is,” Hannibal paused. It was is if he was trying to find the right word to describe an odd color, instead of Will’s empathy, “incredibly stunning.”

Hannibal’s arm reached over, and he stilled Will’s hand, which was moving nervously near his plate. He looked Will in the eye, unafraid, unfiltered by any kind of bias. His face was emotionless, but all too deep at the same time. There was a hint of awe in his gaze.

Will raised his head. Even now, there was the thinnest line of tears on his lower lid, the result of thinking too hard about their complicated situation. He felt weakened by them.

_ He felt raw. _

 

The two of them sat, enjoying a drink together after dinner, something light. Will had to be sure he could drive home safely afterwards. 

They talked, comfortably, while the fire roared in Hannibal’s hearth, a monster of red and yellow, devouring wood hungrily, hotly. 

It was nearing one in the morning when Will looked up for the time.

“Shit, Hannibal,” he nodded towards the clock, “it’s late.” He was leaned up against Hannibal’s chair, as the President stared at the fire. He was practically sitting on the arm of it. Will had been looking around the room, at paintings and sculptures and books and notes, all of which were impressive in their creation or style. 

Hannibal glanced upwards, raising his eyebrows at the clock the smallest amount.

“So it is.”

Will started to stretch, and gather himself, “I should probably go,” he mumbled, almost hesitant to leave the warmth of the fire and wine. He slid from the arm of Hannibal’s chair, setting his empty glass on a nearby table as he readied himself.

“Are you alright to drive?” Hannibal questioned, his fingers tight on the stem of his own glass. He swirled the wine a moment, smelling it, “You always have the option to stay here, as you know.”

The sentence was far too intense to be said so casually. 

Will stilled at the notion, hands on the zipper of his jacket,  _ Lone Wolf _ patch standing out and blazing in stark contrast in front of the firelight. The idea filled him with a low heat, and he swallowed around it. It was just his anxious tendencies, he told himself, making him nervous of the idea.

And he  _ was _ indeed nervous.

“No,” Will practically stuttered, “No, I’m alright, I can drive back.”

“Are you sure?” Hannibal chimed, once more. His hospitality was never ending. 

Will smirked at his persistence, “I’ll be alright, although I know where to go if I ever need to crash in this city,” his tone was lightly joking. 

There was the faintest of smiles on Hannibal’s lips, “That’s true,” he almost whispered out. He seemed more serious than Will did. Then again, Hannibal seemed more serious than Will in a lot of ways. Sarcastic, sassy Will Graham was not nearly as serious as ex-doctor,  _ President _ Hannibal Lecter. They contrasted almost beautifully.

 

Will rode home that night, and the chill from the highway eased the nervous heat that had spread through his body.

When he got home, he apologized profusely to the dogs, and let them run for a good twenty minutes. He made some hot tea, sat back on his bed, and plugged his phone in. 

Will’s thoughts, that night, roamed around Abigail, and Hannibal.

But his mind also wandered towards Jack.

His stomach tightened at the name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, lookat that! Another chapter? It must be christmas. In all reality, this one is about 400 words shorter, I aim to make my chapters at least 2,500 words or longer, some of them get a little less, some a little more.   
> This chapter was almost completely Hannibal/Will Dynamic.  
> The shit storm is coming~.
> 
> Y'all are so sweet for sticking through with this.   
> I also changed my icon, finally! I bet the lot of you can guess what it is.


	14. Pᴜɴᴄʜᴇs & Pᴜʟʟs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hᴏʙʙs ɢᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ's ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings - Blood, alcohol, crying, the like. No drunk driving!

Will rolled over the next morning to his phone buzzing. He groaned at it. The sky was overcast with winter clouds, a low, cold breeze brushed the outside of his windows. Reaching out, he grabbed his phone, and flicked it open, without so much as looking who was calling. Pulling it to his ear, he grumbled, “Hello?”

Hannibal’s crisp voice crackled on the other end, “Good morning, Will.”

Will found himself smirking into his phone, his eyes still shut, unwilling to open yet and face the morning, “Should have known it’d be you,” he said, his voice edged with sarcasm and humor. He didn’t mind the call, it was at one point or another that he found himself answering calls without checking the I.D., and being none too surprised when Hannibal was on the other end.

“Yes, well,” Hannibal’s voice seemed tight and taut, and Will’s gaze cracked open the slightest, staring at his ceiling lazily. It was obvious that something was bothering him, or he wasn’t alone, “I wish it was under happier circumstances.”

 

* * *

 

Will pulled up to the hospital, and searched out Hannibal’s slick bike almost instantly. He pulled into the spot, parking and shutting his own bike off in one fluid motion. He all but jumped from the seat as he moved inside, helmet tucked under his arm.

The hospital was easy to navigate, now, having spent so much time there with Hannibal. The halls were always the same, and only the little, minute things changed. It was almost comforting to know what he was walking into. But even that thought didn’t calm the fluttering in Will’s chest.

When Will pulled up to Abigail’s room, the door was open. A vaguely familiar voice rang inside, Hannibal’s accompanying it in a soft mumble.

Will strolled in, and saw Hannibal first. His back was straight, his jaw was squared, he was taut, and proper. He almost looked uncomfortable. Almost. Will’s blue eyes slid to Abigail’s side as he continued to move in.

Hobbs was beside Abigail’s bed, holding his daughter’s hand, and simultaneously scowling at Hannibal.

“--shouldn’t be hanging out with freaks like you, anyways,” was all that Will heard as he walked into the room. Hannibal’s eyes had shifted from Hobbs, to Will, now. His face was dull.

Will didn’t stop walking, and, instead of making it to Hannibal’s side, took a sharp turn towards Hobbs, unblinking as he strolled up to him. The man only had time to look up, and arch an eyebrow a fraction, before Will’s clenched fist punched him squarely in the face.

The sound he made was shocked, the sound of his knuckles meeting skin and metal rang through the room, and Will’s eyes were muted and dangerous, the entire time.

 

The sound of running water eased Will’s throbbing head as he stood at Hannibal’s sink. His knuckles were slightly swollen, bruised, and bleeding.

Will’s hand had connected with Hobbs directly in the jaw, but the momentum behind it had only made his clenched knuckles swing directly into Abigail’s bed, into the metal frame there, splitting them open.

Will had had no time to register pain as Hannibal had stood upwards in a single, somehow controlled, motion, and moved to grab Will’s shoulder, spinning him from the room silently.

The pair of them had walked from the hospital then in silence, Will shaking in rage, eyes foggy with tears, and Hannibal’s hand moved to the back of his neck instead, steering him. Although the gesture was controlling, Hannibal’s hand was gentle, and his thumb loomed over Will’s pulse and circled it in fluid motions. They had boarded their motorcycles and made their way to Hannibal’s house in complete silence.

Now, Will was standing in his kitchen, Hannibal’s hands at his injured one, gently thumbing over the wounds with soap.

“You didn’t have to hit him quite so hard,” Hannibal mused, but there was a smirk, a laughter, in his voice. He was just as pleased as Will was.

“But I _did_ have to hit him,” Will smirked back, a gesture that was cut short by the sting of pain as Hannibal slid Will’s bruising hand beneath the water. His shoulders clenched at the light pain, his _Lone Wolf_ jacket hugging him like a comforting embrace.

Will glanced upwards to find Hannibal staring him down, eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You’re glad I did that,” Will read Hannibal as best as possible.

“Hobbs was in the process of telling me how we’re disgusting, dirty bike rats. I wasn’t prepared to fall to his level.”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ whose level I fell to,” Will clenched his jaw in rage, his body stiffening all the more, the clenching moving from his shoulders, down his back.

It was a moment before Hannibal’s hands rose from the water, damp and dripping, “Keep that under,” he ordered lightly as he dried his hands on a nearby dish towel, focusing on that for a moment.

They were silent, and Hannibal came to stand next to Will, staring downwards with his whiskey eyes at the water, which was growing pink in Will’s own blood. Will was tense, his jaw flexing, his shoulders stiff, but his eyes were half-lidded. His rage was natural, and he let it flow through him like a strong drink of poison.

“No one has the right to be such a shitty dad,” Will mumbled out. His free hand gripped at the edge of the clean, cool counter.

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow, moving his gaze from Will’s hand, to his face, “Are you speaking from experience?”

Will was silent, now.

“Ah,” Hannibal mused, “A nerve struck within the mind of Will Graham.”

When Will looked up, he wasn’t expecting his vision to waver in tears. He wasn’t expecting the knot that rapidly formed in his throat, or his breathing, which quickly became shaking, and erratic.

Hannibal’s eyes softened, then, ever the slightest. His jaw squared, he blinked down at Will, and reached forwards. His hand went to slide back into the water, over Will’s injured one, and he slowly raised it, reaching for the towel he had left on the counter with his free hand. The two stayed quiet as Hannibal dried and dressed Will’s knuckles. A few tears escaped Will’s eyes, a product of him blinking too harshly against the burning line, but Hannibal said nothing of it. The wind roared outside.

 

They didn’t go back to the hospital, that day. Instead, they stayed at Hannibal’s.

If Hobbs didn’t call the police, he could have ordered the nurses to not let either of them back in.

That was not something that Will Graham was prepared for.

So, instead, they sat at Hannibal’s house, and prepared to get thoroughly drunk. It had been Will’s idea. Hannibal pulled a few bottles of choiced alcohol, and Will immediately opted towards the whiskey. It was the same color and smoothness as Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal lit a fire, sipped wine, and Will stayed quiet as he gulped down glass, after glass, after glass of alcohol.

“You’re going to be sick,” Hannibal mused softly at him, after his third glass had been taken more like a shot, and less like a beverage.

“Probably,” Will mumbled, setting the glass aside. The ice clinked within it as it fell in on itself, it hadn’t even had the time to properly melt, yet.

Hannibal’s low chuckle rang around the room, “Always glad to indulge you,” he mumbled, swirling the wine within its cup. His free hand was rested on the arm of his chair, his eyes cast into the fire as he smelled the sweet grape flavor.

Will closed his eyes at that, taking a seat beside Hannibal in the chairs that seemed too far apart, yet comfortably close. He leaned back into the padding and sighed.

 

The effects from the alcohol hit him quickly, in the same form and fashion as he downed his drinks; All at once. Will sighed and tipped his head back, his mind literally buzzing with the sensation of a fast drunkenness. Hannibal was keeping watch of him, between his sips of wine.

Will sighed, his head swimming, and mumbled, “Didn’t think I’d get so attached to the kid.”

Hannibal hummed, pausing for a moment, before responding, “If I’m honest, neither would I. Her father is a father, but not a father figure. She’s alone, in that sense,” he paused, “Or, she was.” His tone was oddly intimate as he glanced over at Will, who blinked groggily back, “We’re her fathers, now,” Hannibal mused. There was something distant in his eyes as his face turned back to the crackling fire.

Will didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or the idea of being the dad that he never had, but for the third time that day, tears pricked his eyes. His eye flicked over, to make sure Hannibal wasn’t watching him. He was. Will felt raw, in a sense. He couldn’t remember crying this much since he was a teenager.

Quickly, Will wiped his face with the back of his hand, mumbling, “Sorry. Been a long day.”

Hannibal furrowed his brows the slightest, his eyes intense, “I’m sure it has,” he agreed softly.

Everything was quiet for a moment, before Hannibal slid from his chair, stalking over to Will. He knelt down beside Will’s seat. Will only turned his head towards him, too drunk to do much else.

His movements were slow, so that Will could reject if he so desired. Hannibal reached forwards, and up, using the pads of this thumbs to wipe away tears on either side of Will’s face. His brows were thoroughly furrowed in concentration, now, and when Will closed his eyes, he felt another hot tear slip free on both sides, foiling Hannibal’s attempts to dry his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled gruffly, keeping his gaze shut.

“You’ve not a thing to apologize for,” Hannibal almost whispered back, still wiping softly. His hands smelled lightly of sweet prairie sage, for whatever reason.

Will cracked his gaze open as Hannibal’s hands stilled. The man was just holding his face, now, flames casting shadows over both of their features in the dim room. Will’s own arms were folded, comfortable in the leather embrace of his _Lone Wolf_ jacket.

Hannibal moved forwards, inspecting Will’s face softly. The tears had stopped falling, although there was still a watery line of them in Will’s eyes. Will thought he heard Hannibal sigh, through the crackling of the fire.

Will stayed stock still as one of the hands on his face slid back to his neck, fingers curling into the fine hair there. Hannibal’s face leaned all the more close. That scent was available again, that leather, musky, herb-filled scent. Hannibal’s jacket and his own scent had become one in the same, and Will was unsure whether it was Hannibal that smelled of his jacket, or the jacket that smelled like Hannibal. It was probably the latter.

Things seemed quiet, calm, and still. The room was warm, comfortably so with the fire, and Will’s drunken mind was eased by the fingers at the back of his neck and the side of his face. Hannibal’s motions were slow, he knew exactly the state Will was in; emotional, drunk, and everything in between the two.

Still, Will didn’t object as Hannibal leaned forwards, and there was a moment when their faces were a hairsbreadth apart that Will felt him pause once more, asking, silently.

When met with no resistance, no objection, Hannibal slid his eyes closed, and pressed their lips together tenderly.

Their lips lingered together for a three-count. There was no moving, no grumbling, no tonguing, just their lips pressed together for three solid seconds.

Hannibal’s eyes slid open as he pulled back. Will blinked lazily at him, his lips parted the slightest, moist.

Maybe it was Abigail. Maybe it was Hobbs. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe, just maybe, it was because he was so damn lonely. Whatever it was, it made Will raise his arms, and place them on Hannibal’s biceps softly, and then slowly slide upwards to his shoulders. It made one hand palm into the back of his neck, much like one of Hannibal’s was pressed at his own. It made Will pull slightly forwards, bringing their faces closer again, his leather jacket creaking in protest.

They both closed their eyes, this time, as they pressed slow, lingering kisses to each other’s lips in front of the firelight, fingers buried in each other’s hair, words dead on both of their lips. The room was warm, and comforting, and the two men stayed silent the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist! I needed this! Forgive me for three updates in, what, three days?? It finally happened, you all should be totally happy <3 ~ 
> 
> Now I need to chill out and plan what's to come next.  
> Agh, I hope this was tender enough for you guys~!


	15. Hᴀɴɢᴏᴠᴇʀs & Hᴀɴɢᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ's ʜᴜɴɢᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ɪs sᴜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. Hᴏᴡ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴀsᴛ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Trigger Warnings! Will's hungover, and there's a sexy dream sequence in the start.

Engines revved, tires screamed across pavement, and shouting could be heard.

But none of that mattered.

Will Graham was standing in the illuminated dark, head tilted back against the unknown stranger, who had chosen, again, to visit him in the night. His hands were on Will’s hips, his lips at his neck, and, every time that this happened, a new detail surfaced. 

This time, Will could feel the light stubble on his jaw as the stranger kissed open kisses against his pulse, nipping with sharp, angular teeth. The strong hands on his hips dug in, before moving to slide to their usual position of his chest and stomach, sliding under Will’s shirt to do so, raking it up his body. 

They had performed this dance before. 

“Darling,” the husky voice behind Will whispered, mouthing against his ear, “I do hope you missed me.” 

“I did,” Will groaned, his hand clutching at the thigh behind his own, dragging the dark stranger closer, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” It wasn’t a lie.

“And, do you love me?” It almost groaned behind him, thankful to be touched in return, to finally have Will aching for him enough that he’d reach out and grab him. And Will was doing exactly that, the hand sliding back to clutch the stranger’s hips as best as possible while he still had him from behind. 

Will nodded furiously, his eyes screwed shut, his brow furrowed, heavy and thick with sweat, teeth raking at his bottom lip. He was shaking.

“Say it,” the man mumbled, into Will’s hair this time. There was something intimate and special about the way they had held each other. Had they slept together? Had they been lovers for very long? How had they met? How did they fall in love? The questions burned Will’s skull, but it was drowned out by the burning hot pulse he felt in his chest, “I’ve been wanting to hear it, again.”

“I-” Will sucked in breath as the lips at his neck nipped him just as he was starting his sentence, “I love you. I fuckin’ love you.” 

There was the sensation of blood surrounding them. On the ground, perhaps? Will’s fingers were sticky with it, as were the stranger’s, but there was the metallic tang of it in the air, as if what was on their bodies wasn’t the only bit of blood lying around. 

A motorcycle engine growled close by for a moment, before heading past them.

“Love,” the stranger praised, “Darling,” he continued, “Will,” his words were endless, “Stay with me.”

 

Will jolted upwards, his eyes flicking open, as if someone had pressed his  _ On _ switch. Immediately, he regretted it, the raging sun blazing into his eyes, the blood rushing around his body, and, oh sweet Lord, what was this obnoxious, painful headache? Will’s entire skull was a throbbing beat of pain, right behind the temple, on both sides. 

The room around him was cool, and clean. Looking down, and around, Will noticed that he was covered in supple, soft white sheets. The entire bed was soft, come to think of it, and the curtains were drawn over the windows as best as possible, but the morning light still shined through them with a fierce persistence. 

He groaned, and swung his legs out of bed. He still felt a bit dizzy, a bit sick, a bit drunk, and he held his head in his hands for a moment, wiping cold sweat from his brow, combing a hand through his damp hair, before looking down at himself.

Will was only in his boxers, and his shirt. 

Immediately, concern struck him;  _ What happened last night? _

He rubbed his face again, swallowing. His tongue felt heavy, coated in alcoholic residue, parched and dry with dehydration. The only course of action was to explore exactly where he was and get something for this obnoxious headache. 

Padding from the room, the floor cold on his feet, Will made his way down the hall, before swinging around the corner, to the railing. 

The sight was of Hannibal’s den. Will felt his stomach drop out.

_ The fuck did I do? _

Despite his horror, there were warm smells emanating from the kitchen. The best idea, of course, was to follow it. Will absently was aware of his stomach rumbling in sickened hunger, having only alcohol ,and the thick caramel coloring that came with it, to digest. 

The sight that came with the kitchen was almost domestic. 

Hannibal was cooking, a healthy stack of freshly made waffles on a plate. He was wearing pajama bottoms, which were noticeably thin and soft, a thin white shirt buttoned up over his torso. His sleeves were rolled up. The finishing touch was the way his hair was haphazardly pulled back, the smallest of ponytails kept it in place in the back of his head; It was literally just a small fluff secured by a hair tie, and it must have been how he fixed his hair before combing it back in the morning. 

Will let himself pad in, rubbing at his face tiredly, the mop that was his hair messy, and uncombed, “Hey.” It was a mumble, if anything.

Hannibal looked up, and immediately there was a slow, fond smile over his face, “Good morning, Will.”

Will strode over to the kitchen island, slumping down in one of the bar stools, hands still at his face, rubbing. It seemed there was always more sleep in his eyes when he rubbed it away. His head was throbbing in protest to the light of the morning sun. 

“Here,” Hannibal slowly pushed a tall glass of water towards him. Will raised it, letting it come to his lips, before two of Hannibal’s fingers reached out, keeping the rim down for a moment, “Slowly,” he mumbled, his eyes serious, as Will glanced upwards. 

Slowly, just like Hannibal said, Will drank a few sips of water, even though he desperately wanted to chug the entire glass. It was cool on his throat, refreshing, and he could feel it slosh and mix in his stomach, chilling whatever liquids were found there. His tongue felt lighter afterwards.

“How did you sleep?” Hannibal had turned back towards his current work, which was the waffle iron. Will could see his sharp shoulder blades through the thin shirt, prodding out as he worked about his own kitchen. 

“Honestly, I can’t remember,” Will groaned out. The memory of hands on his stomach and chest passed through him, whispers of  _ Darling _ and _ Sweetheart _ and  _ Lover _ crossing his mind, along with the thought of those sweet hands, the tender kiss at his pulse, and the groaning and moaning. 

“What happened, last night?”

Hannibal straightened his back, turning back with a few more waffles on a plate, depositing them onto the stack, “You got remarkably drunk,” he stated, a chuckle in his tone. 

“Yeah, I can  _ see _ that,” Will groaned again, taking another slow, cool sip of water. His temples were still throbbing, and he rubbed at them with two fingers, willing the pulsing in his skull to subside. It was only at the worst and best of times that Will Graham would be this sarcastic, he was lucky that Hannibal never took offense. 

“What else do you remember?” Hannibal asked softly, once more turning his back. There was something about the way he stood, which was straight, and quiet, and questioning. Something about the way that his head was turned down, as if he was trying not to look upwards at all while he made breakfast. 

“Honestly, not much. I remember drinking. I remember--” Will paused, thinking. 

He could remember those sweet, tender kisses, hands in his hair, mumblings of soft, muffled things he couldn’t remember. The firelight dancing off of Hannibal’s whiskey eyes. 

“Remember?” Hannibal questioned, prompted, urging Will to continue on and finish his sentence.

“I remember,” Will paused again, “I remember kissing you. Oh, God, that wasn’t a dream,” his hands were over his eyes, now, and he leaned back to the best of his ability, tilting his skull into the groan that followed.

“It was not,” Hannibal confirmed, as if it was the most realistic way that the two of them would spend their time together while sober, “You were incredibly drunk,” he added, and paused. It was almost awkward, but not quite, “As was I.”

“What happened, after that?” Will was almost afraid to ask.

“I put you to bed. Simple as that,” Hannibal’s voice was full of charm, of gentle understanding. He would be the man to let  _ no _ mean  _ no _ , to let  _ goodnight _ mean _ goodnight _ , and he would be no other way with Will. If anything, he was a gentleman. Any other course of action would have been _ rude _ . 

“How did my pants get off?” Will wasn’t doubting Hannibal so much as he was questioning himself out loud.

“You insisted on taking them off, mumbling something about not wanting to get sick upon them. I didn’t stop you, but I  _ did _ make sure you were fully in bed before leaving. I couldn’t leave you stumbling around in the dark, could I?”

Will paused at that, as Hannibal slid a plate with a waffle in front of him, as well as a fork, and a knife.

“Eat, but slowly. You need something to fill your stomach, lest you get sick,” Hannibal’s hand rested on Will’s shoulder, before sliding on to his shoulder blades, gently. Will gave a tired nod. 

Hannibal seated himself beside Will at the island, and they shared a breakfast together, Hannibal keeping a close eye on Will, the entire time. 

 

When breakfast had been successfully completely without Will being sick, Hannibal’s first question was what Will needed to do with his day.

“I need to go check on the dogs, and,” Will was acutely aware of how he smelled of sweat and booze, “I need a shower. After that,” he trailed off, unsure, leaving it open-ended.

“We can go to the bar, if you’d like. It should be calm there, and given that we can’t go see Abigail, it would be a choice location. I would give Abigail’s room another day or so before we should be free to return.”

Will nodded at this; Hannibal was always the one to talk sense. He grimaced as he looked down at his hand, bandaged still. He had completely forgotten about it, but the wrapping was still dry, and clean. He’d change it at home. 

 

* * *

 

Will pushed into the doorway, dogs springing up around him, yipping and whimpering and wagging their tails. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Will apologized frantically, petting each of them on the head as they milled around. He opened the door wider to let them out, letting them stream by Hannibal as well, who reached his hand out as they gave him playful nuzzles and licks. 

Will shook his head, going about the room to straighten up after the dogs, filling their food bowls again with a sack of dry food he had sitting by the kitchen entryway, sealed, “Alright, a quick shower and I should be good to go,” he stated.

Will awkwardly shuffled around, gathering some fresh clothes, and setting his jacket, which he had put back on before leaving Hannibal’s house, on the bed. Slowly, he turned towards Hannibal, “Uh, want some tea, while you wait? It shouldn’t take long, but,” Will shrugged, looking anywhere but Hannibal’s face.

Hannibal smirked, softly, watching Will as he shuffled about, “That sounds just fine, Will.”

 

The shower water hit his back, first, and Will shivered at the warmth. The sound was irritating to his headache, but the warmth creeped into his limbs and pores, into his head, clearing it. His closed his eyes and turned into the spray. 

Immediately, there was warmth on his lips, and Will let them part, sighing into the stream of water. The warmth was calming, and gentle, and--

His mind had drifted, now, to the memory of Hannibal’s sweet, tender kisses, and the way that his hands had moved into his hair, pulling him in, and his soft voice, which had been mumbling almost the entire time.

_ “Beautiful.” _

Hannibal’s tone rung out in Will’s head, a fuzzy memory from the night prior. Will tried to ignore the way that his chest tightened, the way that his heart thrummed at the remembrance. That was the man that was waiting just outside of his bathroom door. 

Will shook his head against the shower stream, and thoroughly got to cleaning off his body.

 

The air was cool when Will exited the bathroom, a breeze of minty smell from the tea hitting his nostrils. He padded towards the kitchen, rather quietly, stopping short just before the doorway. He could hear Hannibal’s voice. Quietly, he slid against the wall, pulling the towel that had been furiously scrubbing at his damp hair away from his head, and moved to the corner, peeking out from behind it.

Hannibal had his cup of tea in one hand, the other hand reached below the table. Winston’s furry head was laying on Hannibal’s lap, licking at his damp nose every few seconds, ears back sweetly, gazing up at him with his dark, puppy eyes. 

Hannibal’s fingers were buried in the fur behind Winston’s scruffy ear, “Hello, Sweetheart, yes, yes, I see you,” Hannibal cooed softly at the mutt. Winston’s tail was wagging slowly, “Your Papa loves you very much, did you know that? Of course you did, of course.”

Will blinked at the sight of Hannibal’s gentle, surgical fingers being calm, and sweet, and, dare he say loving, with his dog. It looked as if Hannibal was a rather fatherly man, and, after all of his displays with Abigail, Will wasn’t surprised. Winston was Will’s child, Will’s charge. It only made sense that Hannibal gave as much love to Winston as Will had given to Abigail. 

Will took a deep breath, and strode from behind the corner, as if he had been walking towards the kitchen the entire time. Winston lifted his head from Hannibal’s lap, yipping, and padding in circles around Will, who only smiled softly and reached down to scratch him on the head. The towel moved back up to rub at his hair, but stilled, as Will smirked at Hannibal, “Not too flashy?” he asked sarcastically, referring to his jeans and flannel shirt. 

Hannibal smirked from Winston, to Will. His eyes trailed him, and, for a moment, Will was acutely aware of how his eyes moved up and down his form, sparking a tingling in the base of his spine, “You make any flannel shirt look flashy, Will,” there was the shine of comedic mischief in his eyes.

This made Will laugh out loud, Winston woofing behind him, “Coming from you, Mr. Pajama-Suit? Alright, then,” Will flexed his bandaged hand, which he had fixed in the bathroom, throwing his towel into the hamper, “Let’s hit the road.”

 

The bar was dim, and warm, and mellow, and it suited Will’s aching head. It was early in the afternoon, the sun was trying to start to tip over and cast shadows along houses and cars and streets. When the light was gone, the heat would soon follow, so it was actually a good thing that they made it out of the house while it was still in the sky, and the air didn’t freeze Will’s lightly damp hair solid. 

The two of them sat at a booth; The same booth that they had sat at, tucked in a corner, with Abigail. 

It was a good night to refrain from drinking. Will opted instead for a tall glass of water, relishing the feeling of the cool glass on his palms, and the condensation that crawled through his fingers. Hannibal did the same, opting for water, and Will smirked upwards at him, “You hungover, too?”

“Not in the slightest,” Hannibal stated, “But, I’ve been known, myself, to get sick seeing or even smelling alcohol, when I’m as bad as you are right now,” He smirked, “Just taking you into consideration.”

Will raised an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t thought much of it since they entered the bar, but yes, the idea of having alcohol tint the air close to his nose, and, therefore, close to his stomach, made his insides flip in a revolting manner.

“Thanks,” Will mumbled, taking a slow sip from the water.

Over the course of the next few hours, Hannibal and Will let the evening pass with idle chatter, and the relaxed atmosphere.  _ Rippers _ came and went, only a few at a time, and a couple of them even lingered around Hannibal to say their Hello’s. Whenever Hannibal would turn his head to smile fondly at one of his little followers, Will would try to keep himself from staring at those lips, the lips that had been on his, last night, while they got themselves thoroughly wasted. 

But that was just it. They had been wasted. Will had been upset, and lonely.

_ And drunk.  _

It was only when Will looked up to see a  _ Ripper _ staring at him with an eyebrow slightly cocked did he realize just how intensely he had been staring at Hannibal.

If Hannibal had noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

Only when the loud sound of the door banging open made the entire bar go still did Will turn his eyes from Hannibal’s face, and look instead towards the entrance.

His stomach dropped, and he felt the threat of nausea creep over him anew.

_ Forensics _ were streaming in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good God, I actually loved writing this, for some reason. We're really starting to delve into how Hannibal feels about Will. It's often said that, in the series, it was love at first sight of Hannibal. What if it happened to be love at first sight for Hannibal, in the Motorrad 'verse? Awe~ <3 Will's starting to get it. Will, don't sleep with the murderer, don't do it man.
> 
> Find me on IMVU or Tumblr via HijackTheJackal~! <3


	16. Pᴜɴᴄʜᴇs & Pᴜʟʟs (Pᴀʀᴛ Tᴡᴏ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tʜᴇ Fᴏʀᴇɴsɪᴄs ʙᴇᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Rɪᴘᴘᴇʀs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴜʀғ. Tʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇsᴜʟᴛ ɪs sᴏʙᴇʀɪɴɢ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning : Fights, blood, emotional confusion

There was a moment of stunned silence before all Hell broke loose.

It took only a moment for the first _Forensic_ to spot a _Ripper_ nearby. It took a moment more before the _Forensic_ balled his fist and landed it squarely in the _Ripper’s_ jaw. The same thing started to happen all around the entrance to the bar, spilling into the bar room itself.

Hannibal jerked into standing, _Forensics_ really starting to pound into unsuspecting _Rippers_ , while even more of them were streaming in.

Things were a blur, from the bartenders shouting at them to stop, to the yelling and cursing on both sides of the battle, to fists flying and people running about the room. Will was looking at an accurate description of Hell on Earth, pictured for him in a series of calls and shouts and bloodied knuckles.

Hannibal strode into the crowd with purpose. Will, in his shocked state, did a double take of Hannibal vanishing into the throng of bodies before he stood himself, stumbling to follow him. They were surrounded on all sides by quarreling people.

There was a heartbeat that Will and Hannibal stood in the middle of the fray. Will watched Hannibal as he stayed close behind, saw him reach to pull a _Forensic_ off of one of his _Rippers_.

Will saw the movement out of the corner of his eye.

A _Forensic_ came barreling into Hannibal himself, knocking him straight in the temple with a closed-fisted swing. It was a dirty, unfair punch. Hannibal had had his gaze and intentions set straight on pulling his _Ripper_ to safety.

Will could only watch, stunned, as Hannibal tipped backwards, stumbling into one of the tall bar tables, catching himself on the seat. But that wasn’t before there was the sick crack of his skull flinging against the table’s edge. He looked dazed, his hair now thoroughly frayed, and Will cursed loudly as a _Ripper_ came bouncing around the table to grab his _President’s_ shoulders, and help heave him up. There was a sickening splotch of red on the table’s edge; Hannibal’s blood.

Anger curled heavy in Will’s gut as Hannibal righted himself, clutching the shoulder of his _Ripper_ , mumbling sincere thanks to him, and Will whipped his head around. The _Forensic_ that had punched Hannibal was now wailing on a _Ripper_ , the one that Hannibal had been trying to save, making it an uneven two on one fight. And the _Ripper_ was sincerely losing.

The sound of shouting was muted to Will. All he could feel was the angry twitch in his hands, all he could hear was the blood in his ears, as he reached forwards and tugged the _Forensic_ back harshly, shoving him against another table. His hand reached forwards to first into the _Forensic’s_ collar, before he reared back his other fist, the one that was bandaged and scabbed over from punching Hobbs in the face, and brought it down harshly, into the _Forensic’s_ neck and jaw. The _Forensic_ sputtered, and attempted to block the blows, and between the wailing of Will’s fist, he thrust him hard against the table, banging his head back against it.

Around him, the _Rippers_ were starting to gain ground on their own turf, throwing curses and shouts, fighting beside, and around, Will. Fighting as one.

“Tell Jack to back off!” Will shouted into the face of the _Forensic_ , who was bloodied and bruised by Will’s fist.

The _Forensic_ nodded towards Hannibal, who had successfully righted himself, and had a _Forensic_ under his own, well-aimed blows, “He killed Miriam,” he choked out, blood dripping from a split lip, and trailing a crimson line down his shirt.

Will stilled, his fist clenched and reared back in the air, and blinked down at the _Forensic_.

“How do you know?” he asked curiously. The rage in his voice was not to be unheard. Jack’s thoughts, Jack’s obsession, with Hannibal being Miriam’s killer was spreading. Unless…

“Another body,” coughed the _Forensic_ , and Will could feel him struggling, feel his legs flailing as he struggled to gain purchase on the slick bar floor, “Few miles down the road. Hidden. Patch and bike cut up-- Miriam--” he coughed, shaking in Will’s aggressive grasp, “Miriam was trying to get away, that’s what her tire burns were from. She saw--” Will almost couldn’t hear him over the chaos around them, but it seemed muted in a way, “She saw _too much_.”

There was a shout that the Cops were coming.

 _Forensics_ started to back off, hissing, and punching, and throwing around threats back at the _Rippers_ , _Next Time’s_ and _Soon’s_.

The _Rippers_ were calling back, wooting and throwing empty beer bottles after the _Forensics_ . A few of them started to chase the _Forensics_ out of the bar, only adding to their scurried escape. There was a unison cheer, and, despite the wounds, and the blood, the _Rippers_ had never seemed more unified and singular than they had in that moment.

Will’s gaze flicked towards Hannibal. The _President_ had sustained a bloodied cheek, and maybe a bite of his own to the inside of his mouth, as blood was dripping from his lip. _Rippers_ were shaking him, patting him on the shoulder as he righted himself, and there was a small, triumphant smile plastered across his lightly dazed features, whiskey stare turning around his _Rippers_ and praising them in return.

Those deep eyes could have been the eyes of a killer.

For some reason, it occurred to Will that he didn’t care.

Because it didn’t happen.

 

The aftermath was just as blended in Will’s head as the fight itself. _Rippers_ made their quick goodbyes to Hannibal, some sticking around. The Bartenders were rummaging around, righting tables and chairs, cleaning up. Police sirens rung in the distance, a dull bell in Will’s head. Statements were being taken by the local police force. First aid was being done, no one had been seriously injured, and, better yet, no one had been killed.

Will sat himself at the bar with Hannibal, a medic furiously running his hands through Hannibal’s hair, checking his skull, checking if he would need stitches, or not. Although, Hannibal hadn’t voiced his concern in the possibility, and, given that he had been a doctor, Will thought he would know.

Hannibal’s gaze was staring ahead, neutrally, distantly, and Will was eyeing him as the medic worked in checking him over. It only took a minute, and within the next hour or so, things had calmed, and straightened themselves again. Tables were righted, police were wrapping up, and medics were long gone.

There was a noticeable thickness in the air. It only took ten, maybe fifteen minutes after that for Bedelia, Chiyoh, and Margot to arrive.

Margot slumped down into a bar stool, the same bar stool next to Will, and took a good look around, “Well, this place really got fucked,” she mumbled. Chiyoh shot her a glance.

Bedelia looked at Hannibal hard, in that way with her eyes half-lidded, inspecting him more than just looking at him. Will had been given that look before, but it was just Bedelia’s way of assessing. She turned her head towards the room with the same bored stare.

 _Rippers_ were slouched in seats, some of them with beers, most of them with bruises. They were talking, looking tired, looking absolutely worn. A few of them patted each other on the back and bought each other beers; Alcohol was the best remedy for pain sometimes. Or, at least to them it was.

Bedelia’s stare fell back onto Hannibal, “I dare not think that it was Jack Crawford’s gang who did this,” she said evenly, lowly, in her wispy voice. Her style matched Hannibal’s to a T. Will tried not to think of it.

Hannibal’s gaze slid shut, tiredly, almost, “Once again, Bedelia, you are painfully correct.” There was an unheard edge to his voice. None of the _Rippers_ were looking at him, even Margot, Chiyoh and Bedelia were scanning the room again. But Hannibal was tense. He was in pain. He didn’t know Will was watching him, and that made it all the more easy to tell.

The noise of disgust that came from Bedelia rang in Will’s ears. He heard her straighten herself, brush her hands down her own jacket, and heard her footsteps at Hannibal’s side, “What would you wish to do about it?” she asked methodically.

Will turned his head fully towards Hannibal, his eyes tired and half-lidded. His jacket was a firm, warm, unchanging embrace. Hannibal was staring hard across the room, his gaze strong. His words were clear, when he spoke.

“Wage a war.”

 

The two men sat outside on their bikes, in the night. The evening had grown cold, and the skeleton trees stood out against the sky, with the moon shining down on them, and painting their black bark in silver. There was the softest of winds, which was not constant, but a reminder of the lack of foliage that lined the roads.

Hannibal sat there on his bike, eyes tilted towards the stars, and Will sat next to him. The night was cold enough to fog their breath, but not cold enough to penetrate the heat of their jackets. Will’s eyes were tilted at the sky, too, resting over the moon, and the occasional thin, blue cloud that crawled over it.

An odd sensation crawled over him; A heat that tickled him at the base of his spine.

Will lowered his gaze to the bar, and gave a slow blink, before turning his eyes towards Hannibal.

Hannibal’s whiskey eyes, illuminated with a silver tint in the moonlight, practically set alight and on fire, had settled over him. Will gave a low sigh, studied him and the remnants of blood left on his face.

“I was worried you got hurt,” Will sighed out honestly, “All but ripped out the throat of that _Forensic_ out.”

Hannibal gave a low, considering hum. His eyes didn’t stray from Will’s, “I saw.”

Hannibal’s feet were firmly planted on the ground as he straddled his bike, their two motorcycles parked in the same spot, rather close. The way they were sitting, Hannibal’s knee was brushing Will’s thigh. Neither seemed to mind.

Will studied Hannibal in return, and there was a moment of silence before he tilted his gaze, “How does your head feel?”

Hannibal glanced upwards, reaching up with a lithe, gloved hand, feeling around the back of his skull. Only once did his eyes crease in light pain, until he eventually removed his digits completely, “Not awful. I didn’t believe I would need stitches, but I suppose it’s healthy that they confirmed just as much.”

Will nodded silently, glancing down the front of the bar.

They were cast in darkness, like this. The way that the moon settled overhead threw shadows in their direction, and the bar front covered their bikes in shadow while the world around them was vibrantly illuminated. There was the sound of Hannibal shifting, and Will cast his eyes back over as he felt him touch his shoulder.

The _President_ had leaned over on his bike, a hand resting just on Will’s shoulder, “Thank you for standing up for us,” he all but whispered. It seemed so genuine, and for a moment Will felt as if not a lot of people saw Hannibal Lecter like this, or had seen this side of him. Will stayed quiet.

Hannibal leaned over, nice and close, and slow, and Will held his breath. There was a moment, a hairsbreadth apart, where he thought to himself.

_Is this really what I want?_

Hannibal’s lips fell over his own, encasing him in a slow, sensual kiss, as he leaned over on his bike. Will was still a moment, caught between pushing him away and the growing urge to return it, to let go and let every confusing feeling he had felt this Winter ball up into his mouth and be pushed into Hannibal’s body with hot affection.

This kiss was sober.

Before, the last time that they did this, and Will cringed at the fact he could even say _The last time_ , because he wasn’t one to do this often, he had been drunk. So very drunk. And Hannibal had been the same way.

“Han--” Will muffled out into the kiss, hands coming up onto his chest. They more or less slid upwards, up his stomach to rest just below his collar.

Hannibal’s eyes had slid shut, and Will let his own do the same, but that didn’t stop him from talking, “Hannib--” it was swallowed once more into a kiss that was quickly deepening, being half returned by Will in his confusing emotions. This is what Hannibal wanted, but was this what he wanted? What _did_ he want?

“Hannibal.” The word finally escaped him, and Will felt himself lightly pressing against Hannibal’s chest, a fair warning that he could shove much harder, “I don’t know if that’s…” Will paused, looking down and away. His lips were tingling. Hannibal’s taste was just as fine as his leathery smell; He tasted of mint, and of leather and the way that it settles in the back of the throat.

The _President_ watched him, before lowering his own gaze away, “Apologies, Will. It would seem as if I was too straightforward.”

“It’s been a weird day,” Will mumbled. He fought against the urge to bring his fingers to his lips, and feel the moisture left there by Hannibal’s mouth. The _President_ certainly had a way of using his lips, slow and sure and _confident_ . Will couldn’t ignore the fact that he had returned it between his inner struggle. _Some_ part of him apparently agreed.

“It has,” Hannibal agreed, softly.

They sat in silence for a long while, staring upwards at the sky, unsaid tension between them. Will swallowed often, unable to rid Hannibal’s taste from his lips. Or, maybe he was savoring it.

“Well,” Hannibal finally sighed the word out into the night, his breath pluming into fog, “I suppose,” he paused, glancing around over Will’s form, “That I shall see you tomorrow, Will.”

Will nodded, “Yeah,” he practically whispered.

They sat there another moment, Hannibal staring at him, before he broke his intense gaze, and looked down, turning the key in his bike. Will did the same.

Will drove home that night, the memory of their sober kiss much heavier on his mind than their drunken one. It was also heavy on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I could NOT resist.~ Have another chapter, my dears, as it's that time of the weekend when I can't sleep and write about our leather-clad babies~!  
> This was brought on because I watched Primavera again. Holy fuck, boys, things could all be avoided if you just said, "I love you."  
> Looks like we're experiencing that, here~! Agh, Will, let it go, you want him, you've wanted him for a long time. You kissed him back, you dumb fuck. 
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments, kudos, and follow this story~! Shit is really about to hit the fan.


	17. Tᴇxᴛs & Tᴀʟᴋs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wɪʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴛᴏ Jᴀᴄᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ Jᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴛᴏ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ. Aɴ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪs ᴍᴀᴅᴇ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers!

His hand was throbbing. 

Will slid his eyes open, the sun high in the morning sky. The dogs heard him shift, and lifted their heads as he continued to rustle, and rolled over onto his side. He brought his hand up to his face, to stare at the damage while his eyes adjusted to the light. 

Blood had trickled down his hand in the night, drying and crusting on the back of his knuckles, and down his wrist. Glancing down, he saw a few pools of blood that had dried in the night, about the size of his palm. He sighed; He’d get them out later, odd fluids staining his furniture was a common enough occurrence with his pack of mutts. He let his arm flop back down as he rolled over onto his back. He almost wanted to just close his eyes and go back to sleep.

On the ground, the dogs were snuffling around him, tails held at half-mast, wagging as they sniffed their morning greetings to each other. 

In his head, Will could hear the echos of people yelling at each other, of bar stools tipping over, of punches being thrown. 

His mind wandered over Jack, over Hannibal, over the spark of static that had ignited the both of their clubs in the dead of Winter. 

Will opened his mouth to sigh, slid his eyes closed, let his fingers dig into the sheets of his bed. His knuckles pricked as blood cracked around them, and threatened to open again. His heart was out of place. It felt heavy, throbbing. 

But it was the throb of rage. 

Will scowled as he scrambled blindly for his phone, flipping it open.

No new messages scrolled his screen. 

Perfect. He fumbled for Jack’s contact, fingers tired and clumsy in his state of half-sleep and anger. 

**WG :** Hannibal’s not happy with you.

He’d sort this out himself, if he had to.

**Jack :** I wouldn’t expect him to be. I’m not too fond of him, either.

Will stared at the screen, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room, and rolled onto his stomach. Letting his anger get the best of him was not the way to sort this out, but what was left? He’d tried reasoning, he’d tried apologizing, he’d tried fighting. Will Graham was thoroughly fed up with Jack Crawford. 

**WG :** We need to settle this.

**Jack :** Indeed, we do. Have Lecter meet me at the bar after 8 PM, tonight. He can bring his Rippers if he wants, it’s not an ambush.

No. That was not at  _ all  _ what Will was aiming for. The mark he had aimed for was missed, and, instead of getting under Jack’s skin, he’d only pushed them further into the situation. 

_ The fuck were you thinking? _

Will stared at his phone, and stared hard. 

 

Will drew in a breath as he pulled up to Hannibal’s house. He hadn’t told him he was coming; No phone call, no text, or anything of the sort. Doing any of those just harbored the possibility of Hannibal turning him away for the day, being busy with something else.

This was much too important to wait until tomorrow. 

He flipped his kickstand, blinking up at Hannibal’s house a moment. 

_ Another Forensic found. _

_ About as old as Miriam’s corpse. _

_ No more than four miles down the road. _

_ Hidden thoroughly in the brush. _

Will tried to shake off the fluttering voice of the  _ Forensic _ from the night before. His voice came to Will in clips, and fragments, and overlayed each other in his head. It only served to confuse him. What was so important about all of this?

_ She was trying to get away. _

Will let out a shaking sigh as he slid his helmet off, and under his arm, and made his way to the door. His knock was brisk, and sharp, and his gloved fingers twitched beneath the leather encasing them. 

Will waited a moment. A minute? A second? Time was a bit blurred, and he wiped the front of his face with his hand, trying to clear sleep from his eyes, and claims from his head. His hand reached again to knock, but the door swiftly opened, revealing Hannibal’s whiskey stare and upturned smile. 

 

Hannibal all but pulled Will inside, mumbling things about his idea to call or text him, and set the day together. Will found his confusions and suspicions cleared as Hannibal led him to the kitchen, a set of fresh pastries setting to cool on the counter.

“I was in the middle of pulling them from the oven when you knocked,” Hannibal explained, “I hoped you didn’t think I was avoiding you.”

“No, no,” Will said, tiredly. A lazy smile was laid across his lips, “I lost track of time, didn’t know how long I’d been standing there.”

Hannibal, who had been shifting the pastries in order to check their status, lifted his head to Will.

“Lost track of time?”

“It happens,” Will explained, taking a seat at the kitchen island, wiping his hands over his face again. It was something he did often. He left it at that.

Hannibal hummed, the corner of his lip now tugged upwards as he moved about his kitchen, “And why does it seem to happen?” He questioned, his voice light.

“Happens to everyone,” Will rationalized, “Get too deep in thought, forget what you’re doing, can’t think straight once you snap out of it again,” he sighed a deep sigh, hunched over Hannibal’s counter, and his hands found their way to sliding into his own hair, carding through it in a way that would be calming coming from anyone else but himself, but only served to keep his hands busy. 

“Did you have a bad night, Will?” Hannibal asked, returning to the counter. He leaned on it with his forearms, and Will’s eyes landed lazily on his wrists as his hands clasped together, trailed up the smooth inside of his arms to land on his elbows, where fabric was bunched with purpose, having been rolled up. 

Will swallowed, “It was a long night, last night.”

“Indeed, it was,” Hannibal’s voice seemed softer.

“I had the strangest feeling, I was--” Will paused, brows furrowing at nothing other than the Doctor’s elbows.

“You were?” Hannibal prompted, lightly, but didn’t prod. 

Will waited a moment, “I was worried. The nervous flutter of common anxiety hammered my chest like a wounded animal.”

“Perhaps the wounded animal is you, hm?” Hannibal reasoned, and Will lifted his gaze to him, “You really should distance yourself from all of this when you can, Will. It’s not your battle.”

“Not my battle?” Will asked, sarcastically, and he gave a tired scoff, “Any common-sense rider anywhere would know what to stand up for.”

“And is that why you’re standing, Will?” Hannibal’s voice was methodic. His tone, his reasoning, was all set perfectly into place, “Are you standing for yourself, for me, or for every man and woman set on the pavement with the growl of a bike beneath their fingertips?”

_ He’d make an excellent psychiatrist. _

Will cupped his face in his hands a moment, dragging downwards, sighing.

“If I was in your position--” Will started, softly, empathy eating away at his mind.

“But you’re not.” Hannibal cut him off in a way that seemed less impolite and more worried, “You’re not in my position, you needn’t hurt yourself over this.”

Will stared hard, let his hands fall from his face and rest on the cool granite counter. The smell of pastries filled the room, and it was a calming opposite to the electricity that stood in both of their eyes. Will’s words were calm, and clear, and grounded.

“I do.”

 

* * *

 

They made quick work of rounding up the _ Rippers _ . Hannibal contacted Margot, Bedelia and Chiyoh in turn, and told them of the situation. 

Will had told Hannibal of Jack’s text after their stare had broken, after his own words had fell through his head.

_ I do. _

And Hannibal had looked calm. Calmer than Will looked, calmer than Will felt. His eyebrows furrowed the slightest, but the closest Hannibal came to angry was a look of distaste.

“You’re not going alone,” Will had said, matter-of-factly. It was his way of forcing Hannibal to bring the others. Hannibal was a grown man, a man that could do what he wanted, but at the end of the day he was still human. And, even though Jack had said that the meeting wasn’t an ambush, Will didn’t believe Jack’s word for a second. 

Even if it wasn’t an ambush; Just because Jack came in peace, didn’t mean his  _ Forensics _ did. They were out for blood. 

So, once each of the  _ Rippers’ _ board were contacted, Hannibal urged them to spread the word to all that they could; They could divide the work up themselves in whichever way they felt fit. 

In the end, Chiyoh was making calls, Bedelia would round them up at the  _ Ripper’s _ bar, and Margot would patrol the streets. Hannibal and Will were settling to walk out the door to get to the bar themselves. 

“What’s a war-rally if their leader isn’t there?” Will asked, sarcastically. His voice was full of it these days, making light of a situation that was so far into the dark that light didn’t bother to penetrate it anymore. 

“Leaders,” Hannibal corrected him, briskly, as they stepped out the front door. 

Will raised an eyebrow, stared at Hannibal’s back as he made his way down his own porch and towards his bike. He said nothing else on the matter on the ride to the bar, or at the gathering of the  _ Rippers _ .

 

* * *

 

The empty lot was alive with the sound of roaring, rumbling engines. The sun was starting to dip below the tree-line, leaving the distant forest a skeleton of black fingers touching the sky. The surrounding area was drenched in a purple wash, the sun was so far gone for the day that all that remained was the violet cast of light that illuminated from a distance, and nothing more. It was the color of the world falling into shadow. 

Will had fallen into line with the  _ Rippers _ once they had been gathered at the bar and set into formation. He fell in beside a  _ Ripper _ he’d never seen before, and was given a nod as he slid his bike into the line with hesitation. Will had just gripped his bars, and nodded back. 

The lot was washed in that same purple shadow when they pulled in, a slow, dark parade of leather and black paint and metal. The  _ Forensics _ were already there, circled on the far side of the lot in a semicircle, an awkward attempt of formation. Jack was seated in front of them. 

Hannibal pulled forward just before the halfway mark of the lot, letting the _ Rippers _ file and park themselves in behind him. A few  _ Forensics _ walked their bikes forwards a few steps, engines growling in warning. Chiyoh, Bedelia and Margot were seated behind Hannibal, looking as slick as oil, and composed as he was. The other _ Rippers  _ pulled into whatever space they could find, some of them shutting off their engines, some of them keeping them running. Will was parked to the far left, a few rows back from Hannibal and his Board. 

Jack pulled forwards, and the _ Forensics _ eased up behind him, forming a solid line of  _ Rippers _ and  _ Forensics _ in the middle of the lot. _ Forensics  _ turned off their bikes, and, instead, moved to stand behind Jack, weaving between the motorcycles like water flowing around rocks in a stream. Not all of them stood, the ones in front remained on their vehicles, but the standing ones joined them, leaned on them, shared space with them in a show of camaraderie. Will pulled his bike forwards slowly, walked it, instead of gassing it, as  _ Rippers _ did the same thing. 

The tension in the air was thick, was neither side had said a word. Nervous and itching, Will turned his bike off, and moved to stand as close as he could to the front line; Jack knew he had to be there anyways.

_ Rippers _ were on all sides of him, all staring forwards, stone-faced, and Will eased forwards as far as he could, sliding past a few of them with mumbled apologies. They moved for him without question. When he was but a row behind and to the left of Hannibal and Jack, he settled. 

“I thought you said it wasn’t an ambush, Jack,” Hannibal said cooly, scanning over the crowd of  _ Forensics _ in front of him. Some of them openly bared their teeth at him. 

“It’s not,” Jack replied, looking over some _ Rippers _ . Hannibal’s face was passive, “But you took my invitation to bring your  _ Rippers _ anyway.”

Hannibal hummed knowingly, “Tell me, Jack--”

He was cut short when the tension broke all too suddenly. A  _ Forensic _ came forward, teeth bared, and all but jumped over his fellow riders to wail Hannibal directly in the jaw, once. 

Immediately, curses rang out on both sides, and Will stared hard as the  _ Forensic _ was dragged back by his comrades.

“Murderer!” Was being spat out.

He wasn’t removed fast enough.

A  _ Ripper _ lunged forwards, fisting a hand into the  _ Forensic’s _ jacket. His hand reared back, balled and ready to swing, but another  _ Ripper _ grabbed him, forcefully pulling him backwards, shaking him into stillness. 

The  _ Ripper _ shook the  _ Forensic _ once, before pushing him back and away, being dragged back by the other, smaller  _ Ripper _ , who now had his hands placed on the other’s hips, mumbling harshly into his ear, kissing the raging pulse just beneath it. They were obviously a couple. A few _ Rippers _ nodded in approval at the distraction, and Hannibal had his head tilted in their direction, eyes stilling over the both of them for a moment. 

“Why don’t you control your riders, Jack?” Will asked from his spot, rather loudly. His pulse drowned out his anxieties as he moved forwards to stand beside Margot behind Hannibal. 

In front of him, Hannibal’s shoulders squared at Will’s voice, and his face turned back towards Jack.

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if Miriam Lass was left alive,” Jack said, oh so calmly. His voice was just a low mumble.

“Hannibal didn’t _ kill _ Miriam!” Came the rough shout from somewhere behind Will. Shouts of agreement were being made all over the  _ Ripper  _ side of the lot. This only spurred on disagreements and curses from the  _ Forensic _ side. In but a moment, calls and taunts were being jabbed across at both sides.

The _ Forensics _ and  _ Ripper _ authorities were standing there. Jack to Hannibal, Beverly, Brian, Jimmy, and Alana to Margot, Chiyoh, Bedelia and Will.

Will’s eyes stilled on Alana. She almost looked as passive as Hannibal. He didn’t dare slide his gaze to Beverly.

When the jabs and shouts stilled, Hannibal spoke, plainly, “Remain on your own side of the border, Jack.”

Jack shook his head, a low and rumbling chuckle emanating from his chest, “You know, there are more ways to solve Miriam’s death than taking _ Ripper _ turf.”

Hannibal studied him, but said nothing.

“You know the empty lot, on the edge of our boarders. It’s no-man’s land, there’s nothing to do with it.” Jack paused.

Both sides were silent now.

“A rumble,” Jack finished, gesturing towards Hannibal and the _ Rippers _ , “A rumble would settle it.”

Immediately,  _ Rippers _ and  _ Forensics _ both called our their agreements or disagreements. The entire area was a mass of calls and shouts and curses, and some members on both sides looked irritated, and about ready to strike.

Will saw Hannibal turn his head over his chin to Bedelia, his gaze neutral. He was questioning, it seemed. 

Hannibal must have seen something in Bedelia’s stare that Will didn’t, because, even while she looked as neutral as he did, Hannibal slid his gaze over the others, silently. Chiyoh and Margot each got a held stare, as well. 

Finally, Hannibal’s gaze slid over Will’s. Will parted his lips to breathe, and blinked at him. It felt like minutes that those whiskey-pooled eyes settled over his face, twitched around his expression minutely, studied him. 

It almost seemed as if Hannibal’s stare softened. Maybe it was a trick of the fading light, but Will swallowed, and cast his stare towards Jack. Hannibal turned back to Jack, as well. The air around them was silent, save for the clicking of the skeleton trees and their leafless branches, and all was silent for a moment.

“I’ll agree to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH my God. I am SO sorry that this is so late. Wow, it's been over half a month. That's practically fanfiction SIN.   
> I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I hope that this chapter sheds some sweet light onto these two. Things are getting deeper, and they'll get deeper yet. 
> 
> I edited the last chapter a bit! Fixed mistakes. It was godawful, I can't believe none of you told me. >:O
> 
> Anyways, I'm back from that semi-hiatus! Things were just so crazy with that anime convention, and my partner visiting me. Tell me what you think of these gay leather boys, again! Did you all miss them?~ Worry not, more updates to come.~


	18. Wᴀʀᴍᴛʜ & Wᴀᴋɪɴɢs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aʙɪɢᴀɪʟ's Sᴛᴀᴛᴜs ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀ ᴛᴜʀɴ, ᴀs ᴅᴏ Wɪʟʟ's ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers! This chapter was Beta'd by the stunning Ghostwarning, you should certainly give their profile and fics a read-through~!

The air was frosty that night, on the drive to the hospital. They rode side by side, their shadows growing long under every street lamp they passed. When they arrived at the hospital, they parked together in the same spot.

The hospital was warm. It was late, but not terribly so, just before 8 at night. They had several hours to sit with Abigail before they’d have to head home for the evening. It was enough time left that they both believed that the drive to the hospital was worth it.

In all reality, even if they could only sit with her for five to ten minutes, it would have been worth it, still.

The room was calm and warm, and the nurses had done their checking on Abigail for the evening. The table had been shifted closer to her bed, and fresh water placed upon in, in case she woke up.

The pair of them sat on the padded bench, watching her for a moment. Will’s eyes were heavy, negative emotions struggling through him, which were heavy and thick in the thought of death and blood. Hannibal seemed only partially worn. If the  _ President _ wasn’t under so much stress, it was easy to believe he would never have to sleep at all.

“Is this actually a good idea?” Will mumbled, his blue eyes sliding from Abigail to the floor, worry eating away at him. He could feel Hannibal’s stare on his profile.

_ They’re good people. _

“It’s the only way for Jack and his Forensics to drop the subject and leave us be,” Hannibal said, sensible as always, “It’s for everyone’s good, Will.”

Will felt the familiar, prickling burn of tears behind his eyes. He looked back up at Abigail.

She had healed considerably in her sleep - her bruises were almost completely faded now. She wasn’t in any threat of dying on them anymore. They just didn’t know if she would wake up.

Will swallowed around the two thought processes in his mind; his worry for Abigail and his worry for the  _ Rippers  _ all but consumed him, amplified with Hannibal sitting right next to him.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Will choked out. His eyes slid over to Hannibal, resting his stare on his knee a moment, before raising his gaze to the other man’s face. 

Hannibal was staring hard at him, mouth a solid line, brows furrowed. Will held his stare, vaguely aware of Hannibal’s hand sliding over and gripping his knee, squeezing it minutely. 

_ It’ll be okay. _

This was his friend. The man he’d come to spend so much time with, become all but a surrogate father to Abigail with, the man he’d shared drinks with, rides with, thoughts and feelings with. The man that he’d shared his lips with, not once, but twice, and, even through all of his own confusion, the man that was  _ so damn patient  _ with him. And even with that reassurance, Will still didn’t know what he wanted.

_ Why not? _

The sound of frantic breathing and ruffling fabric broke them from their prolonged stare. Both of their heads turned sharply to the hospital bed, and Will all but jerked into standing. 

Abigail’s eyes slid open, slowly, and trailed down her own body, her arms, her legs, before sliding over to the two men. She smiled weakly at them. 

 

The next several hours were a blur.

Will had pressed the nurse button, moving calmly, slowly, so as not to scare Abigail. Or himself, for that matter - the last thing he needed to do was elevate his heart rate and panic. He’d held his hand to Abigail’s bleeding body once, she didn’t need to know how much rode on her actually opening her eyes again. 

Both himself and Hannibal remained there as nurses came strolling in, cheering  _ hello _ s and  _ good-to-see-you _ s at Abigail. They started on her tests right away, taking blood, taking heart rate, checking her pupils and moving her neck gingerly from side to side. The layer of tears that had formed on Will’s lower lid while speaking to Hannibal refused to reside, and he felt them prick at his eyes anew when Abigail gave a genuine smile, and a genuine, albeit weak, laugh. 

“I didn’t think she was going to wake up,” Will admitted to Hannibal in a whisper, as the two of them stood out of the doctors’ way, up against a wall. He winced at himself for admitting it, shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

Hannibal remained quiet, but there was a gentle light in his eyes, and a small smile on his lips. 

 

They remained for as long as they possibly could. Due to the nature of the situation, the nurses and doctors were less concerned with them leaving when visiting hours ended. The girl-in-a-coma had finally woken up. 

It was nearing 11 PM when Hannibal and Will finally had to make their departure. They said their goodbyes, and promised Abigail that they would be back tomorrow. Will clasped her hand as he said it, patting the tender back of her wrist gently. Hannibal had grabbed her other hand, and gingerly lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. Abigail’s eyes were clouded in tears.

“I’m glad it was you two that I woke up to,” she mumbled, honestly. Will swallowed, and patted her hand again. 

The two of them rode to Hannibal’s house on an unspoken agreement that that was where they would go. 

 

* * *

 

Hannibal’s kitchen was warm with the smell of food, which he had insisted on making almost as soon as they had entered the door. Will had caved, but only on the playful agreement that he’d help. He wasn’t just some come-to-be-served-on guest. He wasn’t just a yearly visitor. 

“Well, that much is true,” Hannibal agreed lightly, rummaging for supplies in his fridge. Everything was in perfect order, meats and vegetables and fruits segregated to different sections of the refrigerator. Will laughed at his statement, a bark that filled Hannibal’s kitchen and made his shoulders shudder for a few seconds longer. Hannibal’s lips were upturned in a smile himself, when he returned to where Will was standing with the ingredients Hannibal had grabbed. 

Abigail’s awakening had done both of them some good. 

Before long, though, they were working. It was domestic work; Hannibal was chopping vegetables, some kind of garden herb that Will thought would be much more practical to buy at the store pre-chopped than to chop it himself. He voiced his opinion, playfully. 

“Nonsense,” Hannibal disagreed almost immediately, “When you prepare your ingredients fresh at home, you keep the flavor, keep the helpful vitamins and minerals that may not have remained in the leaf in a bottle.” His fingers were flattened over the dark leaf, as he diced into smaller and smaller sections. Will was leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. The window was open just a crack to let some fresh, cool winter air penetrate the kitchen. It mixed Hannibal’s leathery scent with the scent of fresh herbs perfectly.

Things were silent a moment, as Will closed his eyes and took in the smell of fresh, clean, and cold air.

Things were at peace.

“Is it true?” Hannibal asked quietly.

Will opened his eyes again, turning his head towards Hannibal. His eyebrows raised, “Is what true?” he asked.

“You don’t want to see me, see any of us, injured in this quarrel?” 

Hannibal’s eyes were half-lidded now, focused intently on the herbs he was chopping. The sound of the knife against the cutting board rang through the room.

Will stilled, blinked. Hannibal continued to concentrate on his chopping, not looking at Will. 

“Of course I don’t.”

“And that’s why you don’t want us to go?”

Will was rigid against the counter, “Yes.”

All was silent, save for the  _ chop _ of the knife against the cutting board. Will watched Hannibal work for a beat, eyes hooded, then moved his stare back to the man’s face. There was an unreadable expression on Hannibal’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked softly, arms still folded, back still pressed against the edge of the granite countertop. 

“I’m keeping myself busy,” Hannibal’s eyes were hooded too, “Last time I got the urge to kiss you, I was strongly declined.”

Everything stilled around them. It was as if the only two people alive, the only two things that were moving, were Hannibal and Will. 

Will stared hard at Hannibal’s profile, watched him. Their kiss from the night before ran through his mind, leaving him slightly breathless. 

If Will was going to do anything, ever, and take control of this situation, now was the time to do so.

His fingers were gentle as he unfolded his arms, and reached out. He made a soft connection with Hannibal’s chin, the barely-there stubble prickling his fingers. He slid his forefinger under, slowly pulling Hannibal’s face towards him, thumb gripping just under his lower lip. Hannibal stopped chopping, stopped moving, and his eyes were still hooded, still passive. 

Will saw his gaze drop respectfully, eyeing his throat, and then his chest. The knife was still in his hand, half rested on the cutting board, the other hand to his side. 

The fingers that Will had on Hannibal’s chin remained there. He studied his face, his features, those deep, amber eyes that had caught his own so many times, held his stare. Slowly, Will pulled forwards on Hannibal’s chin.

Hannibal all but dropped the knife on the cutting board. Will pulled him close, and Hannibal’s body followed the silent command, and in a moment the  _ President  _ was almost flush up against the smaller, younger man.

“Will, you certainly don’t have to -”

“Shut up,” Will cut him off, his voice barely above a whisper. He stared at Hannibal hard through his lashes, eyes focused, brows hard. Hannibal complied, hands still at his side. He wouldn’t be the kind of man to put his hands on another without them asking for it.

Will’s hand removed itself from his chin, and, instead, slid up the side of his face. Hannibal’s eyes closed, his mouth fell open in the slightest, and Will carded his hand up through his hair, fisting gently into the back of it. The both of them smelled of leather, and it was borderline intoxicating.

Will felt it before he realized he was doing it. Soft, warm lips over his own. Familiar. They’d both taken the opportunity to lean in at the same time, and met sweetly in the middle. Will’s eyes fell shut, and Hannibal pushed into him confidently, deepening the kiss. 

A soft groan emanated from both of the men at almost the exact same time.

It was now that Will was vaguely aware of Hannibal’s hands on his hips, grasping him for the first time since they’d met. Will returned the favor by bringing his arms up, wrapping them up around Hannibal’s neck, letting his fingers curl into his hair, grasping at him. 

Hannibal urged Will backwards, walking him until his hips hit the counter again, and held him there. Hannibal’s tongue was running against Will’s lower lip, tasting him. Will let out a strangled moan.

Everything about their time together was coming back to him in flashes in Will’s mind. Spotting Hannibal at the gas station. Meeting him at the bar. Going out for drinks with him. Learning of Jack Crawford’s horrendous attitude towards the  _ Rippers _ . The time and hours that they’d spent together watching over Abigail. Waking up under Hannibal’s careful, watchful stare. Waking up under his jacket. Waking up in his spare bedroom. Their previous kisses _. _

It was only seconds later that the two of them broke apart, gasping for breath, but it felt like ages. Will kept his arms wrapped around Hannibal’s neck, and Hannibal’s hands didn’t seem to be moving from his hips. Instead, Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s shoulder, slowly urging him to tilt his head to the side, placing his lips over the pulse of Will’s throat. 

“Little  _ Wolf _ ,” Hannibal all but growled into Will’s neck, and Will could feel his sharp teeth grazing over the soft, tender skin of his neck. Will shuddered, his spine curving back against the countertop, eyes still shut, and let his mouth open in a silent gasp. 

After being locked away on his own accord with only his dogs to give him company, Will Graham was a tender and deprived man. The most sensation he ever really got was the vibration of his motorcycle engine on the open road, or a self-induced orgasm at the end of a long, lonely night.

This was absolutely electric.

Just when Will was contemplating the thought of Hannibal’s lips upon his own again, just to get those sweet teeth off of his tender pulse, the other man broke off and away. 

Hannibal was all but panting, his hair thoroughly mussed from Will threading his fingers through it, gripping and pulling it lightly in their heated, sober kiss. 

“You’ll have to pardon my enthusiasm,” he said roughly against the moistened skin of Will’s neck, which was now cooling in the open air of the chilled kitchen. 

Hannibal pulled back completely, raising his head again, staring down at Will with the gaze of a man that could kill.  _ Hard _ ,  _ monstrous _ , and  _ borderline murderous _ were all perfect ways to describe his stare on a normal day. 

Now, his pupils were dilated, if only a few fractions, if only enough to be noticeable; his hands gripping into Will’s hips, digging in hard through the fabric of his shirt. 

Abruptly, Hannibal pulled away, removing his hands from the grounding grip that he had on Will’s body. Will’s eyes slid open lazily, although his head was still tilted from the Doctor’s ministrations.

Hannibal was righting himself, straightening out his shirt, sliding his hands back through his hair to pull it back and fix it. In moments, he looked almost as casual as he had when they walked into the door, or as casual as Hannibal Lecter could get with his button-down shirts and fine pants. 

“Come,” he almost purred at Will, turning to pick up the knife again, “Let us finish dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, loves~! Will is finally losing himself in that gorgeous stare~! <3 Again, thanks to Ghosty for being my Beta, with their help, this chapter was both edited successfully and brought out on good time! Happy Easter to those that celebrate, and happy start of the week to those that do not~!


	19. Pᴜɴᴄʜᴇs & Pᴜʟʟs (Pᴀʀᴛ Tʜʀᴇᴇ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aʙɪɢᴀɪʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇs ᴛᴏ ɪᴍᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀs ᴅᴏ Hᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ Wɪʟʟ's ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings : Alcohol!

The footsteps that fell across the hard tile of the hospital were normal, now. Will had gotten used to the harsh sound of nurse’s heels and Hannibal’s dress shoes, clicking down the halls, or in hospital rooms. Will couldn’t remember the last time he had spent this much time in a hospital in his life. 

The sun was bright, contradicting the wet wind that blew through the land. There was the smell of distant rain on the air, but no clouds overhead to prove its existence. Spring was on the way, with trees trying to bud and grass trying to grow green again, and the earth moistening and warming, and retaining water instead of freezing it.

It was the day after Abigail had woken up.

She was still limited to her bed, but conscious. Will and Hannibal had met early in the morning, as nonchalant as possible. Thoughts of  _ Where are we? _ rung in Will’s skull.

They were currently filling Abigail in on everything that she had missed in her sleep - starting with Will’s battery on Abigail’s father.

“He’s not always been the best dad,” Abigail explained. She seemed grateful, but uncomfortable. Her far-off look said it all; Garrett Jacob Hobbs was a flood gate better left untouched.

 

It was Hannibal that brought it up first, Hannibal that glanced over at Will with a deepness in his gaze, a light pondering, and a micro-expression of worry. It was Hannibal that told Abigail what Jack Crawford had in plan.

“When is it?” Abigail prodded, eyeing both of the men. They both stayed silent for a moment. 

“We haven’t set a time yet,” Hannibal explained dutifully, “I’m guessing a few weeks,” he paused, “A month at most.”

Abigail’s eyes flicked from Hannibal, to Will, and then back again. “Will I be out of here by then?”

Will cringed, “It’s hard to say.” He was going to be honest with her; A portion of Abigail’s life was shrouded in darkness and unknowing. A portion of her was without her riding family. That was a portion of her life that she would never get back from the darkness of sleep.

“Abigail,” Hannibal reached out, taking her hand gingerly, “You’re much safer here than in the middle of a rumble. I can assure you that.”

“I don’t care.” Abigail’s response was almost instant. She was dismissive, her tone final. It was now that her head raised to Hannibal, and she held his gaze with her own.

“I want to fight with you.”

 

Visiting Abigail was a daily occurrence, after that. And every day, Will was shaken with happiness by the level of her recovery. Every healed bruise, cleaned limb - even the way that she resisted sleep while they were with her (or, at least tried to) - it was all a lingering sign that her recovery would be full, and swift. After that, Abigail Hobbs would be on the open road again.

Will didn’t know if he could let her out of his sight. He didn’t know if he even wanted to.

 

On the third day, Will was awoken with a gentle, albeit firm knock at his door. He rolled over, fumbling for his phone to check the time; If it was before 8 AM, he would ignore any and all disturbances. 

It was 11:30 in the morning.

“Fuck,” Will groaned, rolling over to slide out of bed. He thrust his hand up through his messy curls as he stumbled to the door, all but throwing it open. 

Hannibal was standing there, face soft and passive, a plastic bag in one hand.

“Good morning, Will.”

The two of them stood there a moment, Hannibal gazing down at Will, with Will stock still for a beat, before straightening his hair, his boxers - Oh God, he was only in his boxers. That was probably the reason he felt that prodding stare settling over him and his body.

_ Charming, Graham. _

It was only when Hannibal’s fingers laced around his chin, tilted his head up gently - It was only when Hannibal physically stepped into him and pulled his lips to his own - that his thoughts ceased to fret over his thin night-shirt, which was ticked with visible perspiration from the night. 

Will let his heart flutter in its beating for a moment, before he pulled away prematurely. “I can’t taste good after having just woken up,” he stated, raising an eyebrow at the other man. 

Hannibal’s leather-clad arms looped around him, bag bumping gently on the back of Will’s thighs, and pulled him closer by his waist. The scent of leather hit Will like a train, assaulting his senses this early in the morning. 

“It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t taste good,” Hannibal stated into Will’s tired mouth, “But, frankly, you do. You always do.”

They stood there for a few moments, sharing a good morning kiss that meshed and moved, and reminded Will very much of their first drunken lip lock, making him close his eyes into it.

“This can’t seriously be why you rode here,” Will whispered between their kiss. But the thought stuck in his head -  the thought that the man he was seeing rode all the way to his house just to kiss him good morning. 

It made his chest ache in an unfamiliar way.

“However charming, you’re right, it’s not.” There was a chuckle to Hannibal’s accented tone, “I’ve brought you breakfast.” Hannibal pulled away, sliding his hand from behind Will to reveal the plastic sack once again. 

Will paused a moment, “Well, I guess you better come in,” he smirked at the _ President _ before him, “I’m sure the dogs missed you.”

 

The hospital was cheery, that morning, much like the weather. Curtains were pulled open, nurses were calling charming greetings, family members were visiting patients, and said patients were wandering the halls with nurse assistance, holding on to their liquid-drip poles and shuffling slowly in hospital-given slippers. 

Hannibal and Will were seated in Abigail’s room, the curtains pulled wide. 

“I hope you enjoy that,” Will teased Abigail as she took a mouthful of food that Hannibal had brought; The same breakfast fixings that he had given to Will. 

Hannibal had brought an extra container for Abigail, having explained, “Cold and bland hospital food will do next to nothing to help you recover. Believe me,” he shot her a wicked little smile, “I would know.”

The three of them talked of nothing in particular while Abigail ate. Hannibal and Will seated themselves on the small, padded couch against the window, Hannibal crossing his legs nonchalantly, resting his clasped hands on his raised knee. Will had removed his  _ Lone Wolf  _ jacket in favor of the comfortable hospital temperature, and Hannibal’s  _ President _ jacket was draped on the back of a nearby chair, over Will’s. Between bits of laughter and conversation from Abigail and Hannibal, his eyes settled on the Stag covering the back of Hannibal’s jacket, fixing in on the white stare which he had seen so many times from behind. 

At one point, the Stag’s stare had seemed frightening. Now, it was almost a close friend, trailing Hannibal’s defined shoulders and slim waist. 

A vibration in his pocket cut Will from his thoughts, and he pulled his phone out, his attention clipping to Abigail for a moment as she rambled on about some nurse who was kind to her, but a little sudden and cold to her coworkers. 

**JACK :** The rumble is this day next month, at sunset. Tell Lecter, and your  _ Rippers, _ to meet us in the abandoned lot.

_ Your Rippers. _

Will stiffened, and froze, a chill winding its way down his spine, and his brows furrowing to glare hard at the flourescent phone screen.

From the side, Will heard Hannibal go silent. The laughter he had been sharing with Abigail, light and airy, ceased to ring around the room. Hannibal’s hand worked its way onto his shoulder, gripping it lightly, “Are you alright, Will?” His tone was laced with concern, and he gave a minute squeeze upon Will’s arm. Will slid his eyes shut, brows still furrowed, and tilted the phone screen towards Hannibal. 

Hannibal clicked his disgust, shaking his head lightly at the phone screen.

“What’s wrong?” Abigail asked. The room was suddenly a hundred times more serious than it was only seconds prior. 

“It would appear as if Jack has made up his mind,” Hannibal stated, pausing a moment. Abigail tilted her head in confusion at his explanation. “The rumble is next month,” Hannibal confirmed. “Charming.”

Abigail stayed silent, her head tilting to Will. Hannibal’s hand slid from his shoulder, and, hidden from Abigail’s sight, Will felt it slide down his back in a caress, and rest at the small of his back. 

The rest of the day was tinged with anticipation and worry. 

 

It was later in the evening when Will pulled up behind Hannibal in the  _ President’s _ driveway, sliding his bike forwards to park next to his. 

The two of them hadn’t been alone at all, since Will had received Jack’s horrifying confirmation. Now, the two of them made dinner - a habit which had grown from a special occasion to almost a nightly occurrence. It was normal for Will to stride into Hannibal’s house after visiting Abigail, now, and when Hannibal made a move to the kitchen, Will knew exactly what to expect. A charming voice would always shape around the phrase, _ “Would you stay for dinner?” _

As if Hannibal had to even ask.

They both removed their jackets as they slid into the door, and Will hung his beside Hannibal’s on the coat rack that stood nearby. Their patches contradicted each other, _ Lone Wolf _ and  _ President _ . They were exactly opposite. 

“What are you feeling, love?” Hannibal purred out, his footsteps already clicking towards the kitchen.

_ Love. _

“Ah,” Will smirked around the near panic in his heart, “I’m almost craving fish.” It wasn’t a lie. With spring rolling around, and the rivers starting to soften, Will found himself staring at the forest on occasion, with the itch to grab a rod and reel. He’d start fishing again as soon as he found time, but the chances were that the next time he went fishing would be sometime after the looming fight with the  _ Rippers.  _ In the meantime, he’d wait for the ice to break, and the fish to come out of hiding, hungry and ready to bite.

“The fisherman craves fish,” Hannibal was shuffling around the kitchen already as Will wandered in, gathering ingredients. “How fitting.”

 

The end result of Hannibal’s cooking - and Will’s mischievous rummaging about of Hannibal’s kitchen - was a lemon-grilled trout, tender, and served on a bed of green spinach and asparagus. A light garlic butter sauce pooled over the fish and vegetables, moistening and flavoring the bed of greens.

They both sat at Hannibal’s table, and shared a quiet, comfortable meal. 

It was only after dinner that Hannibal pulled another bottle of wine, thumbing over the label. “A sweeter, richer taste,” he explained as Will wandered over to glance down at the brand. “A bit more fitting for an after-dinner drink, wouldn’t you think?”

Will raised a playful eyebrow at Hannibal, who had uncorked the bottle and poured a fair amount in each glass, “You’re a wine snob, you know.”

“Oh, certainly,” Hannibal’s eyes were just as light as Will’s teasing, “But what else, if not that?”

Will followed Hannibal into his den, gingerly taking the glass of wine that Hannibal offered him as they moved to take a seat. It was the same room that they shared their first kiss in - two chairs far, yet close, in front of the fireplace, stood not far away. But, instead, Hannibal led them to the sofa behind the chairs, parallel to the wall. End tables were seated on both ends of the couch, and it was a place that Will could imagine Hannibal spending a lot of his time reading. 

“Well,” Will took a slow sip of his wine, “You’re a lot of things.”

Hannibal remained quiet, his whiskey eyes cast towards the fireplace, which was cold and dead without a flame within it.

Will trailed his eyes towards the cold stone, too, as they both watched a phantom fire that had yet to burn, “A leader, and a friend, and a father-” Will stopped short. His words were unplanned, and probably stepped over so many boundaries. He hesitantly moved his stare back towards Hannibal.

The  _ President  _ was watching him, his eyes trailing over Will’s form, now. 

“Sorry,” Will was quick to apologize. His hand dropped into his lap, and his other would have followed if he had not been holding a thin, tall glass of sweet wine. The alcohol ran down his throat, burned in the slightest, but the expensive brand meant that the taste was sweet, and the alcohol itself nearly invisible in flavor. 

“No,” Hannibal said calmly, setting his wine to the side on the end table. “You’re not wrong. I only question if those qualities are something you value. Is that why you took note of them?”

Will blinked at Hannibal now in the dim room, pondering over his question. Hannibal was a leader, of course. That  _ President _ patch was charming, and alluring in status, but status wasn’t something that Will Graham was interested in. Anyone with a commanding voice could govern a group. It took a person like Hannibal - understanding, selfless and brave - to actually _ lead.  _

Hannibal had also proven himself a friend time and time again. He shared his space and his life with Will, rather openly. 

As for a father, Hannibal had Abigail, and after all that Hannibal had offered up and done for her, that was justification enough. 

“They mean something to me,” Will’s voice was soft, as he looked back around the room again, “They’re all things that I’m not.”

Will was still gazing away when Hannibal’s hand resting on his knee. “Will,” he started, gently, “You  _ are _ all of those things. Especially to me. And especially to Abigail.”

Will’s head tilted back over again, and their eyes met with a kind of calmness that Will only ever felt after Hannibal’s reassurance or praise. 

So it wasn’t surprising when Hannibal leaned over, his hand squeezing Will’s knee minutely, and pressed his lips to the corner of the  _ Lone Wolf’s _ mouth. Will closed his eyes, exhaled, and tilted his head. Within a moment, they were sharing a slow, lingering kiss. Hannibal pressed forwards softly, and Will felt his other arm come to grip him around the shoulder. 

It was soft. It was warm. It was everything that Will was missing in his life living alone with his dogs and his fishing lures. In a life where his world ground to a stop in the winter, and he shut himself away for months on end, slow was welcomed. Slow was  _ moving. _

Hannibal pressed forwards again, and there was the spark of passion behind his movements, and behind his lips. 

That was all that was needed to urge Will into a soft gasp, and the opportunity was taken for Hannibal to lightly nibble against his lower lip, pull it between his teeth passionately. Will groaned his emotion out into Hannibal’s willing mouth, his breathing hardening into pants. 

It was then that Will raised his hand between them, and pressed it gently against Hannibal’s collar. “Hannibal,” he grumbled out, although affection tinged the edges of his plea, “Wait.”

Hannibal willingly backed away, glancing down at the hand that still pressed gently against his collarbone. He didn’t lift his eyes to Will, but Will couldn’t tell if it was because of shame or fluster. 

“Where are we?” Will breathed out between them.

Hannibal swallowed, visibly licked his lips, and it took almost all the strength that Will had not to lean back in and claim them again, “Where would you like us to be?” Hannibal’s question was just as whispered as Will’s.

“Well,” Will’s voice had risen back to normal levels now, although there was a small smirk that plastered itself across his features. “I’d like us to be,” he paused, long enough to make Hannibal tilt his head in soft question, “I’d like us to be together.”

Hannibal was still, and Will’s fingers rubbed into his collarbone, feeling the bone beneath the fabric of his clothing, and beneath his warm skin.

“Then together we shall be,” Hannibal’s tone was warm as he stared down between them.

Will swallowed, rubbed his hand from Hannibal’s collar, up the side of his neck. The elder man tilted his head in response, and slid his eyes shut. His skin was impossibly hot, tinged with the scent of leather and sage. Will hesitated as he reached Hannibal’s jaw, holding still against the sharp corner of it.

“Will,” Hannibal chimed, his eyes still closed, “You don’t have to hold back.”

It had been impossibly long since Will had been intimate, if ever. Sure, he’d had sex, but it was always cold, and separate, and strangely unsatisfying. In an odd way, this was more fulfilling than any sex he had ever had. 

Will’s fingers curled around Hannibal’s jaw, fingertips running down the sharp bone under his ear. Hannibal’s eyes were still closed, but Will wasn’t sure if it was for Hannibal’s sake or his own. 

Gingerly, Will pulled the other man forwards, pressing his lips to his again, testing. Their lips slotted together sweetly, and Hannibal’s mouth moved minutely, and slowly. Will’s hand slid back down his neck, curled behind it for a moment to card through the back of his hair, before resting again on his collarbone. 

Again, Hannibal’s teeth were at Will’s lip, scraping in a sweet and soft manner. Will let his eyes fall shut, let his brows furrow in sweet concentration. He exhaled a sweet gasp, breathing down Hannibal’s jaw. 

His heart was throbbing, racing to the point of hearing his own blood run through his ears. 

He almost wanted to keep going, almost wanted to slide his other hand up to Hannibal’s collar and rip the front of it open, almost wanted to pull him over top of himself and slide down into the couch, and beg. 

Almost.

“Hannibal,” Will cut him off again, and now his other hand  _ did _ rise up and press against his collar. It was dangerously hot, and Will didn’t know if he could stop himself if he wanted to. “Hannibal,” he mumbled, “It’s late.”

Hannibal pulled away then, his breath moist against Will’s lips, his shoulders rising and falling in the slightest. Hannibal was almost as worked up as Will was, or he just wasn’t showing how hot and bothered he actually was.

“That it is,” Hannibal mumbled, hands loosening on Will’s body. Will sighed, softly, Hannibal’s taste still firmly planted on his lips. 

“You and I should meet at the bar tomorrow,” Will grumbled as Hannibal’s hand slid from his shoulders, down his side.

“Hnn,” Hannibal hummed, gently, “I can agree with that.”

Hannibal was the first to slide from the couch, reaching to offer a hand to his partner. Will took it, pulling himself up softly, and the two of them made their way to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Will’s voice was hoarse, he wasn’t even sure if it was from nerves, or not.

“That you shall,” Hannibal agreed, moving to open the door for him as Will slid comfortably into his jacket, “Have an excellent night, Will.”

Will smiled a tired smile, as he moved to step out, “You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH, sorry for the delay!~ He's an extra long chapter for you guys.~ These two are really starting to get deep, huh?~  
> Anyways, sorry for the delay, again.   
> So, Hannibal related stuff.~   
> I watched Hannibal Rising! God, that movie was so good. Like, if you're still confused about the whole Mischa-Hannibal dynamic, I HIGHLY suggest that movie. I cried, in all honesty, Hannibaby is so sad and emotionally weak. He also has absolutely no chill. 
> 
> Also, friends. I'll admit, I'm kind of desperate. I'm running out of money, and I left my job to start writing full-time. I'm writing my heart out, and when I'm burned out for the day, then I write Motorrad, but my bank account is quickly draining.   
> If ANYONE has any information on possible writing jobs, I'd be so happy to take a look into them. If I end up going back to a regular job, I'll have next to no time to write, and that just won't do.~ 
> 
> As always, follow me on Tumblr at HijackTheJackal, and enjoy!~


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